#combat fire with fire and angst with angst

[ktkat99]

Angst/humor fic idea, if you need a prompt:

Bruce finds out the hard way which of his kids is okay with the 'unadoption' joke threats he makes when they annoy or stress him out. "Why did I adopt you?"..."I still have your adoption certificate. I wonder if the orphanage accepts returns?"..."I knew I should have left you on that street corner where I found you."

Dick fires back with twice as much sass, sometimes rolling his eyes and flipping off Bruce when he gets older.

Young!Jason looks so scared the first time he hears one, and Bruce never jokes about it again. Adult!Jason makes jokes about unadopting himself.

Tim is far too tired to register that it was a joke and gets quiet and avoids Bruce completely for the rest of the week until Bruce realizes what he did wrong and tracks his son down. They talk and Bruce never implies regretting to adopt Tim again.

Cass laughs along with him before pulling out her adoption certificate from her pocket and grinning, scaring him. His kids's adoption paperwork was all stored in a hidden, impenetrable, designed-by-Batman safe. Laughter fades and she just whispers "You'll never be rid of me."

Bruce- Maybe Talia wants you back.

Damian, not even phased- And maybe Alfred would have rather been working for a doctor than a clown-hating, nocturnal, combat furry, but I guess we're both out here disappointing our parents.

[irisintheafterglow]

a kaiju attack spoils date night with bf!hoshina. he is so pissed.

cw: canon-typical violence, swearing, mild angst/fluff, happy surprise ending

"is it just me, or does the vice-captain seem angrier than usual?"

"maybe he's just fired up. there's a lot of yoju for him to take care of," iharu observes, scanning the emptied streets from the rooftop of an evacuated office building.

"you idiots really don't pay attention at all, do you?" shinomiya mumbles under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. the rest of the officers with her stare at her blankly. "it's thursday, geniuses."

"is there something special about kaiju appearances and days of the week?"

"not that i've heard of," kafka states, scratching his head with a finger. "did new research come out?"

"maybe it's because of the full moon," haruichi says and the other men look up at its soft shining light, nodding in understanding.

"that makes a lot of sense."

"but why would that make the vice-captain angry?"

"maybe he's a werewolf," iharu whispers with sincere worry. "maybe kafka's not the only shapeshifter in our division."

"it's date night, you meatheads! the vice-captain's supposed to be off-base and relaxing," shinomiya explains impatiently like it was written on the floors in fluorescent paint. "he's probably angry that the attack came right when he usually picks up..."

"picks up who?" the officers stiffen and quickly fall into perfect lines. you smile at their professionalism and try not to laugh at how quickly they changed their gossiping demeanors. "you know, officers, you should be careful about what you say in regards to the vice-captain."

"our deepest apologies, platoon leader," kaguragi monotoned, ever the perfect soldier.

"at ease," you command them. "you have nothing to apologize for. i'm simply warning you of what might have happened had it not been me passing by."

"understood, platoon leader," izumo confirms. "if we may," he continues slowly and you can see the rest of the officers eyeing him warily. "were we...correct in our assumption as to the reason for the vice-captain's mood?"

"the werewolf assumption or the assumption that only shinomiya was correct about?" everyone but shinomiya reddens, looking down sheepishly at the toes of their suits. the axe-wielder straightens her shoulders with a proud glint in her eyes. "to answer your question, it would be the latter," you answer with a poorly-hidden smirk. "he'd barely knocked on my door when the alarm sounded."

"oh, i bet the vice-cap was seething."

"he definitely was," you confirm, recalling the colorful curses he uttered as you both begrudgingly shed your nicer clothes for your combat suits. i was supposed to take off your clothes under different circumstances, he'd lamented. don't go thinking our night is canceled because of this. i'll finish them off quickly for you.

your relationship with hoshina was no secret, considering that he talked about you whenever he was given the chance. every kdf member on base knew you preferred to keep your romantic life as private as possible to avoid questions of power dynamics from higher-ranking officials. hoshina, however, either didn't listen or didn't seem to care. he happily declared thursday nights to be date nights, threatening intense punishment for the officers below him if they caused trouble while he was gone. a static-filled message from the scouting teams sounds in your earpiece and you dismiss the officers, moving to join the vice-captain at the front line.

judging by the slowly increasing trail of dead monsters covering the asphalt, you find hoshina easily as he cuts a clean slice through a fast-moving yoju. you change the frequency on your earpiece so that you're directly connected to his.

"someone's been busy," you remark, pulling the batons from your back and electrifying them with the switch by your thumb. they hum in your hands, electric blue lightning crackling in sync with the released power of your suit. "save some for me, would you?"

"any other day, i would," he replies and you hear him smile despite his annoyance. "but it took me three months to get those reservations, so i wanna finish this up quickly." another yoju falls, your boyfriend a phantom blur in the darkness.

"are you calling me slow?" your hand plants itself on your hip as you continue to watch him cut down enemies, barely moving from your place between the dead kaiju. "i can't believe my boyfriend thinks i'm slow. here i thought you were my biggest supporter."

"that's not what i said," he huffs, the slightest waver in his exhale the only evidence of exertion. "i'm just faster." he pauses for half a second to catch his breath, and you snag your chance to overtake him.

"hmm, i think i'll take over for a second, then." launching yourself from the ground, your feet run perpendicular against the wall of a crumbling building as you close the distance. you can feel hoshina's attention on you while you dodge the yoju's swinging limbs and sink your batons into the skin covering its core, electricity surging through its body as it falls with a loud thud. "how's that, mister i'm just faster?"

"cute," he admits, offering you a hand as you hop down from the monster's head. you're shoulder to shoulder facing opposite directions and catch the challenge in his eyes as you look at him over your shoulder. "but i know you can go harder."

"go your fastest then, soshiro," you dare. his throat bobs as he swallows thickly, a subtle sign that you'd thrown him off. "i'll do my best to keep up."

---

"so, this is not how i wanted date night to end up," he says through a mouth full of noodles, slurping them loudly from the bowl on your living room coffee table. "and i'm sorry we couldn't go to that fancy place."

"to be fair, the website didn't exactly update its hours immediately," you remind him. "how were we supposed to know the place got demolished in the attack?"

"true, but i made you get all dressed up for nothing," he grumbles, accidentally dropping a vegetable and splashing broth onto his face. "ow." you snort against your spoon, setting it down in your bowl and swiping over the corner of soshiro's mouth with a napkin. "this was my favorite shirt, too. worst date night ever."

"good thing there's this place called the cleaners, babe." he continues to frown despite your unending patience, letting you clean him up while he indulges in staring at you in your nice clothes. you could make anything look pretty, he thinks, staring unashamedly at you wrapped up in a blanket and covering your going-out clothes. "hey," you murmur, gently grabbing his chin and turning him to face you. "i don't mind."

"you don't mind what?"

"this kind of date night."

"but we could do this anytime," he mumbles, avoiding your eyes. you shake your head, pushing away your food and climbing into his lap, your legs on either side of his hips.

"no, we can't. we don't know how many times we get this in our line of work," you point out with an ache in your chest and he finally blinks up to look at you. "so i'm grateful for any time i get to spend with you, soshiro." his throat bobs again, but he manages to give you a small smile.

"you're too good for me, you know that?"

"if you say so," you shrug, leaning down until your lips barely brush his.

"but, you know," he murmurs and you pull back, staring into his starry eyes. "there's not a lot of nights," he inhales, reaching behind him to grab something from under the couch's throw pillow, "where i get to pull this move."

"what're you--ohmygod." he smirks at you as you blink down at the small box sitting in his hand, covered in crushed velvet and embroidered with gold. "that's-you didn't..."

"i did," he whispers, memorizing every inch of your shocked expression. "so," he pushes open the top half of the box with his thumb to reveal something that sparkles even in the dim lights of your apartment, "please--"

"yes!" you scream before he can finish his sentence, your excitement echoing off the walls as you both break out into wide grins. "holy shit, yes!"

"baby, i didn't even ask the whole question," he chuckles, giving in and slipping the ring on your finger. "what if that wasn't the question i was gonna ask?"

"i'd skewer your head with my batons," you smile sweetly and he hums, admiring the jeweled band in the light. "that was the question you were gonna ask, right?"

"of course, sweetheart," he assures you, finally leaning up to press his lips against yours. "you're the only one i'll ever let keep up with me."

"you gonna marry me, hoshina soshiro?"

"i'm gonna marry you so hard, the entire base will know." you fondly remember your conversation with the officers earlier in the night.

"darling, i think they already know."

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[risuola]

TOO MUCH — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

Lately, it felt like not a second pass by without some new curse appearing somewhere in Japan and both you and Satoru had your hands full of work for few weeks, but when he comes back home, exhausted to the bone, his composure snaps and he unloads his frustration on you.

cw: angst, verbal abuse, hurt/little comfort, mentions of blood and hurt, reader is injured, mental exhaustion — 2,5k words

Too much. Too much of everything that piled up on Satoru's shoulders, weighing him down so heavily that he almost couldn't breathe. It felt like the world was on fire, curses crawling out of every shithole in Japan, most of them first or special grade, spreading nothing but death and chaos. So many people killed, so much blood and pain he had witnessed in the last few weeks, it drowned him in exhaustion and helplessness. Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive, and yet he felt so helpless in the current situation. He traveled from town to town, fighting these terrors, but the lives that had been taken away, he couldn't bring back, and he used to think that he was immune to it already. Turns out, one can never be immune enough.

You had your hands full with work as well, but you stayed in Tokyo. The situation drained your energy too, the cascading waves of sadness and sorrow made you feel like you couldn't think straight, but you pushed through. You felt so weak, but had to be strong, everyone had to be. All of your sorcerer friends were just as engaged in the fight as you were, just as tired and distressed, but the show must go on, as they say.

You and Gojo weren't officially a couple, though everyone knew you were together. You were friends, yes, the kind of friends who kiss and have sex. The kind of friends that use pet-names and fall asleep while cuddling naked. Shit, you lived together for a few months, you know everything about him and he knows just as much about you. And you were happy, sharing every moment. He always said that you bring him so much comfort, that he feels like he can be openly himself when he's with you and be accepted for it. Nothing could ever bring you more joy than the man you love feeling comfortable with you.

That being said, it wasn't the best time for your relationship slash situationship. He was more out of the house than in it, and you were just sleeping there, barely. It's been going on for a few weeks already, and it's just now it’s beginning to finally calm down. Few weeks of constant fighting for everyone involved in the jujutsu world, but it started to slow down. So you knew that Satoru would finally return home.

It's when you showered and put on your pajamas that you heard the keys twisting in the lock and the doors opening. Putting on a smile, you rushed to welcome Gojo home, but the moment you saw him, you knew he's extremely exhausted.

Satoru entered the house already annoyed by the conversation he had with Gakuganji a few moments before. That old fart had the audacity to nag him about his methods while he himself was sitting in his cave sipping green tea, not caring one bit that the world was drowning in curses and blood. He threw the keys on the shelf, kicked off his shoes and took off the blindfold, then looked at you, all clean and comfortable in your pajamas. He scoffed quietly.

He felt like his own body was falling apart, everything hurt, his head was pounding, his eyes were burning. Even though he was actively healing himself, the side effects of everything were getting to him. A few weeks of nonstop fighting, of domains, of reds, blues, and purples, and so much physical combat had left him hanging on the last thread of his composure. The usual mask of cheerful carelessness long gone.

Suddenly he wished he could enter the empty house, throw away his clothes, collapse on the bed dirty and just fall asleep, but he couldn't. You were there. And there was never a time in the past when he wouldn't be absolutely overjoyed to come home to you. Even when tired, he wanted nothing more than your arms around him. But not right now.

"Satoru, hey," you greeted him, keeping your voice soft and on the quiet side. You knew him so well, you could see how fatigued he was and frankly, you couldn't blame him. Being the strongest had its downsides, one of which was being very much in demand, and sadly, no one could take his place. "You're exhausted, huh?"

"Look at you, so damn perceptive," he snapped harshly, his eyes cold and empty as he looked down at you. He walked past you to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Are you hungry? I can make you someth-“

"No, just shut up, you cannot make me fucking anything," once again, his tone was cold as he snarled at you. It was the first time so much cyanide spilled out of his mouth and he just barely opened it. At first you tried to understand it. Things had been really draining lately and you knew he was angry because he was tired, but it hurt nonetheless.

"Alright," you sighed, deciding it's best not to get deeper into the conversation when he's so argumentative. "Do as you wish, get some rest, Satoru."

"You know, why instead of telling me what the hell to do, you just don't leave my house, huh?", Shut up Gojo, he screamed at himself subconsciously. "Why are you even here anyway?" Shut. Up. " All comfy when I'm constantly on the job?"

"I know you're tired, Satoru, but I've been on missions too. I'm tired too," you looked at him in defeat, unable to keep the smiley mask on. There was so much wrong in this situation, so much anger being thrown at you for no reason whatsoever, and you had every right in the world to be just as angry as he was, but you just chose not to. You wanted to welcome him home with warmth, comfort him, and keep him up even if you felt down. You wanted to soothe his aching body when yours hurt just as much. Or worse. You were badly injured during the last few battles, but Shoko had her hands so full, you told her you could wait, and you hid all those wounds from Gojo's eyes so as not to worry him.

"'Yeah, your little missions,'" he bit, and your brows furrowed at the sound of his words.

"What does that even mean?" you asked, slowly feeling the heat of anger coursing through your veins. "I'm first gra-"

"I don't care what you are. You're still nothing to me. I deal with real shit, not those..."

You slapped him. Or at least you tried, your hand stopping just short of his face, and it surprised you to realize his limitless was still on, even though he was home already. He was still in fight-or-flight mode, still feeling threatened enough to keep his defensive techniques activated.

"Just what do you think you're fucking doing?" he growled, taking your wrist into his grip, the squeeze shooting shockwaves of pain through your nervous system. "Did my words hurt you? Did the truth hurt you so badly that you thought you could actually hit me?", his tone had a taunting undertone, and when you looked into his blue eyes, you saw nothing but cold. "Funny little thing."

"Let go, Satoru."

"Oh, I will. And when I do, you'll get your useless ass out of here. I'm not your boyfriend, we just fuck, we're not in a goddamn relationship for you to be here all the time. I need my space."

Gojo hated every word that fell out of his mouth, but now he couldn't take them back or erase them, and he didn't exactly know how to act now that he had said them. Immediately, he let his limitless inactivate, hoping you'd want to slap him again. Shit, he'd even accept a kick in the balls, but you remained silent, just looking at him. He could tell by the way your eyes glistened in the sharp artificial light of his kitchen that there were tears threatening to come out, but you didn't cry. Your jaw clenched for a moment and you lowered your hand.

"Right," you exhaled deeply, feeling the hurt burn your heart and soul. The smoke of sadness already flowing through your veins, your cells, your mind. "You're right, we're not. Here," you performed a theatrical swing of your arm, displaying the interiors to him, "your fucking space. I'll let myself out."

"Y/n..." he tried, but you were already in the room, changing from your pj's to sweatpants. He stayed in the kitchen, hoping you'd just jump into bed and maybe cry about it all, and he'd just come back later and comfort you when he wasn't mad anymore, but it didn't go that way.

Once he saw you again, you were heading towards the door.

"Y/n stay, don't be silly, stop," he tried to grab you, but you slapped his hands away.

"What, does the almighty, fucking honored one wish to add something to his oh-so-wonderful speech?"

"No, I'm sorry, stay," he took your hand forcefully, pulling you into his chest, but you fought back, not wanting anything to do with him right now. He had said too much. You knew it was all driven by his exhaustion, but it was far too much.

"No, Gojo, I don't want to stay here. I'm more than pleased to leave you in your space. There's no damn reason for you to share your precious air with such a useless nothing."

"No, no, please," he begged, his anger slowly being overtaken by panic. The sound of his last name felt cold and unfamiliar as it rolled off your tongue. "I'm sorry, please stay. I didn't mean it. Fuck, I didn't mean any of it."

"Please, take your hands off me," you told him more quietly. You were tired and now emotionally drained as well. All you wanted from this evening was to cuddle up with him to sleep. To bask in his warmth, knowing he's safe and home, to feel his skin against yours, to breathe him in. But no.

"No, I won't," he lowered his head and buried his face in your neck. "Please, I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean it, I'm just so tired. I feel dead, there has been so much fighting and pain and suffering and death all around me these past few weeks. I'm sorry, y/n," his voice faded to whisper as he rambled against your pulse.

"Gojo..."

"I don't think you're useless or nothing. Fuck, what have I done" he was spiraling slowly into a panic attack. You could feel his heartbeat getting hectic, his breathing uneven, and his grip on you so tight it hurt. "I am nothing without you. Please stay."

"Gojo."

"I love you," he whispered, his tone breathless, and at first you thought you had heard him wrong. He had never told you that. Not even once. "I love you so fucking much, please. Slap me, kick me, punch me in the dick, I don't care. Just don't leave me. I'm so sorry."

"Satoru, please, it hurts..."

"Hurts?", he froze. What hurts? Did he hurt you? The thought frightened him, not only did he insult you for no damn reason and now he caused you pain? As if burned, he let go of you completely, raising his hands as if he wanted to keep them in sight so you knew he wouldn't hurt you anymore. "I'm sorry."

"I've been fighting for these weeks, too. I'm tired too. I would never compare myself to you, but I gave it my all, too," you exhaled deeply. "And I know you're exhausted, Satoru. So please go to bed and get some sleep. I'll just go home."

"Here is your home, with me."

"Here?", you briefly looked around. It was a place you loved because it was filled with him. It was where your heart wanted to be when you felt safest and happiest, but now... "Suddenly I feel like an intruder here. I feel like I shouldn't be here."

"No, please don't say that. Listen, y/n, love," he dropped to his knees, took your hands in his and kissed the tops of them gently and tenderly. "Please, stay with me. I'm an idiot. But I love you. And I need you here, I need you in my life. I want you by my side."

"So, what do you want us to be? You said we're just fucking. God, I thought we were at least friends, if not a couple, but..."

"I want us to be everything. I want you to be my friend, my partner, my lover, my wife and my entire world."

You sighed. Deep and slow, pushing the air out of your lungs, letting your whole body deflate as you took his hands and pulled him up.

"Go take a shower and come to bed. You need to sleep it off. I need to rest too."

Obeying, Satoru rushed to the bathroom and you made sure to lock the doors, turn off the lights and took the time to change back into your pajamas. Sitting on the bed, you finally felt the tears running down your face. They brought you some relief and you let them flow freely, desperate to get it out of you before Gojo came back. It pained you how wrong the evening went and you wondered if there was anything you did to cause it, but no. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve it. And you should leave him there alone, just as he wished for. Then why were you still here?

"Please don't cry," his long arms wrapped around you from behind, enveloping you in his warmth. The light sweet scent of his body wash pleasantly filled your airways and it's out of habit that you leaned into him. "Will you ever forgive me?" he asked, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. Slowly, he laid you down on the pillows and took his usual place beside you.

"I will," you sighed, already feeling the discomfort. "But please, let's change sides."

Satoru didn't understand at first, but he did what you asked anyway. When he saw you exhale in relief as you turned to the other side, his brain clicked. Moving his hands in the most delicate way possible, he lifted your shirt a little, revealing the many layers of bandages, already tinged with red that was seeping through them slowly.

"God, you're wounded. That's what was hurting you when I held you... I had no idea why you didn't tel-, ah, because I was being an asshole, right," he sighed.

"Yeah, I wasn't going to tell you anyway. I'm fine, just Shoko had her hands full, so I told her I'd wait a day or two. It's just a scratch, really," you told him, fixing your shirt. "Please, let's get some sleep, okay? We'll talk about it all later."

"I love you," he whispered, pulling you to his chest and planting a kiss on the top of your head. It was only now that he could feel his body relax, with you right next to him, your heartbeat syncing with his own, and all of your loving aura filling his body. And he realized that the words he never had the balls to say out loud to you now felt natural, rolling off his tongue. "I love you so much."

"You idiot," you sighed, closing your eyes and slowly melting into his form. "I love you too."

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

love(rs) and war | f. odair

masterlist

summary: request here — when you signed up to become a solider in the rebellion, you never expected to be plagued with dirty thoughts of your boyfriend, finnick. who would have thought someone could make tactical gear look so good? you aren’t too sure your self-control is strong enough to make it through the night, but things take a turn when you take a shift on watch.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, smut, thigh riding, manhandling, possessiveness, jealousy, unprotected p in v, risk of being caught, dirty thoughts/talk, mentions of war, angst, singular use of y/n please forgive me, gale, slow-burn-ish, emotional sex, teasing, fluff

notes: everyone say happy birthday to @odairsaurora

word count: 12.8k dear god

Becoming a soldier in the rebellion against the Capitol came with a lot of certitude and not exactly the good kind. The likelihood of encountering death was extreme. Making it out alive was possible; making it out unscathed wasn’t. Even if you survived, you would be left with a life-long mental scar as a reminder of everything you have endured.

You knew all this when you signed up.

Even with all that knowledge, there were still countless uncertainties. Like not knowing where you would be laying your head to rest at night. Not knowing if you would even survive to be given the chance to rest at night. Being in a constant state of fight or flight. Always looking over your shoulder to make sure a squad member hadn’t been lost to a Peacekeeper or a pod or a mutt. Making sure you hadn’t lost the love of your life. Finnick.

But those uncertainties were predictable in combat—an oxymoron you had managed to wrap your war-torn mind around.

Something you never could have predicted was the lust. The overwhelming, all-consuming desire for Finnick that had engulfed you like a tonne of bricks the moment the first explosive pod went off and your sense of safety plummeted six feet below the ground.

Fire erupted in the air between the two buildings Katniss had shot her arrow through. Everyone was crouched together, watching in awe as they witnessed the sadistic lengths Snow was willing to go in an attempt to keep the rebels from reaching him. Your heart was beating so fast and every loud boom caused by the destruction had you recoiling in on yourself.

Finnick too was watching beside you, wearing a boyish grin as his shoulders shook lightly with suppressed laughter. He always was more favourable to dark humour, finding hilarity in situations others would find disturbing. You found it strangely attractive.

As you stared at him, the initial shock of the explosion started to wear off until it was no longer registering in your mind. All you could focus on was the dangerous curve of his lips, wishing they were somewhere on your body. Anywhere.

When he realised you were staring at him, his smile dropped and was replaced with a look of concern. He leaned towards you, voice a whisper though loud enough to be heard over the blaze in the distance, “You okay?”

You weren’t sure how to tell him your body was pulsating with fear, adrenaline, and desire all at once, so you nodded and hummed a pitchy, “Mhm.”

You suspected it had something to do with the dangerous situation you were in. The possibility that any moment with him could be your last. With this information, your body seemed to switch into survival mode, only ‘survival mode’ seemed to mean it yearned to spend every possible second you had left with him. Which, yes, included wanting him to fuck your brains out every time he merely looked in your direction.

And the uniform, Jesus Christ, the uniform... Whoever designed it was a miracle worker. Quite literally.

In your eyes, nothing could have made Finnick look more attractive than he already was. That man radiated unparalleled beauty even on his worst days. But the second you saw him dressed head-to-toe in black tactical gear you knew you were sorely mistaken. He looked so commanding. So gorgeous.

So dominant.

Never, absolutely never had you been more attracted to anyone than you were to Finnick right at the moment. You felt like you had reverted to a younger version of yourself, the one before you were in a relationship—shy, flustered, and stuck in a state of constant lewd daydreams.

He was adorned in straps and pockets for weapons and equipment, chest protected by sleek black armour. The only skin he had uncovered was from his neck up and his hands, making that tiny sliver of exposure so much more alluring than it should have been. His right thigh was strapped with a gun holster that cinched around his muscular thighs. You couldn’t pinpoint why this made you so desperate to sit in his lap or straddle his thigh and just—

“It’ll be getting dark soon,” said Lieutenant Jackson, pulling you from your thoughts. “We need to find somewhere to settle in ‘til the morning. Streets’ll be even more dangerous at night.”

Nods of agreement echoed around the group. Messalla, you believed his name was, had mentioned there being a place nearby that could be used to camp out for the night. From avoiding hidden pods and scaling over rubble, it was clear what should have been a fifteen-minute journey would turn into an hour-long expedition.

Not that you were complaining.

Sure, that sounded selfish, but nobody was perfect, right? You were certain anyone else would feel the same if they got to spend an entire hour admiring their partner—who just happened to be Finnick Odair—looking incredible whilst doing something as ordinary as walking. His black cargo pants kept tightening around his thighs with each smooth step he took. He kept alternating between holding his trident beside him and over his shoulder, muscles flexing through the thick material of his jacket each time he switched positions.

Sometimes you accidentally found yourself falling behind in pace, a subconscious desire to just watch him walk. It would take him a few seconds before he realised you weren’t beside him anymore and then he would look back to find you staring in a flustered daze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just regaining my energy,” you had replied.

He must’ve known it was a lie. He had to. Though if he did, he didn’t say anything about it, just simply raised an eyebrow and held out his hand for you to take, which you did.

His fingers interlaced with yours. “I can carry you if you want?”

“Thanks, but I think I might die of mortification.”

He laughed something deep and beautiful in response, voice vibrant as he spoke, “At least it’d be in my arms.”

It was such a disconcerting sentence, but the sound of his voice was so alluring that you were conflicted between feeling distressed and turned on.

Eventually, you ended up finding the location Messalla was talking about, discovering that it was a ransacked cocktail bar nearing the outskirts of the city. Everyone was quiet as they settled in, the atmosphere heavy with both purpose and apprehension. Not Finnick though. He was his usual lively self, managing to pull a few responses from various squad members with his charming banter, even gaining a few small smiles here and there.

It took everything in you not to jump into his arms and crush your lips against his whenever he wrapped a large hand around your waist as he stood beside you during briefings about strategy and navigating the city. He kept asking if something was wrong, kept giving you these funny looks in response to your strange behaviour, but you refused to tell him. It was wrong. Positively immoral.

You eventually sat together on a long leather stool, shoulders pressed up against one another, his hand wrapped innocently around your thigh in a need for constant connection. He kept trying to make conversation with you, but you could barely muster up a single sentence in response. Not with his hand touching you so. Not with him looking like that.

His hair was dishevelled in the most perfect way that not even a prep team could attempt to reconstruct it. In any other circumstance, your hands would have already found their way into his golden locks, tugging and scratching lightly to coax a pleasured sigh from his lips. In any other circumstance, your lips would have already attached themselves to the exposed skin of his neck, tracing the length of his artery with your tongue so he would be tilting his head to the side in a silent plea for more.

In any other circumstance, you would be sitting in his lap, hearing the rough material of his attire rustle against yours as you felt him thrust in and out of you.

You crossed your legs.

“What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

You blinked back into existence. Finnick was staring at you, his hand now interlocked with your own and stroking the side of your palm with his thumb. A ray of golden setting sunlight painted a strip of light across the lower half of his face, across his mouth. Your gaze flickered between his eyes and lips, lingering longer and longer on the latter. They stretched into a sweet, reassuring smile. He must have thought you were anxious.

“It’s okay to be scared, you know,” he continued. “Everyone here is scared. I’m scared. I know it may not look like it because I’m just so effortlessly calm and collected—” His expression morphed into faux-arrogance for a moment, lips smirking and eyes sparkling with smugness, and your stomach did a somersault “—but I am. So it’s okay to admit that you are too. I just need you to talk to me.”

You felt so guilty like you had just committed the worst crime in the world. He was on an entirely different wavelength to you, all concerned about your wellbeing meanwhile your thoughts were running rampant with lust. It bordered on nymphomania. You felt like the worst person alive. Why were you thinking about sex in a time like this? Why did Finnick have to be wearing tactical gear? Why, why, why, why, why?

The sudden need to confess was overwhelming and the way he was looking at you so intently wasn’t helping. Then his hand was back on your thigh and kneading it gently in encouragement.

Your thighs squeezed together. God help you if he felt it.

The confession was threatening to burst from the tip of your tongue: You just look so fucking sexy right now and I’m afraid that if I don’t feel you inside me soon I might actually die but I’m also terrified to tell you because I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way when we are literally in the middle of a war and the fact that you are so oblivious is turning me on so much more so please take me into a supply closet and fuck some sense into me before I lose my fucking mind—

Woah.

Could it be the effects of a pod? Did the Gamemakers release some sort of invisible gas that acted as an aphrodisiac which was lethal without relief? If that were true, wouldn’t everyone else be in the same boat as you were? Wouldn’t everyone else look as flustered and rigid as you did right now? Wouldn’t Finnick?

No. It was just you. Somehow that made it even worse.

Finnick’s brows arched inwards as he awaited your response. Your mind flashed back to another time when his brows were arching and lips were spilling filthy obscenities due to your own manipulation. Jesus fucking Christ, your stomach felt so tight it ached. You were throbbing at the thought of it.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

The words were rising into your throat no matter how hard you tried to swallow them. Your mouth opened to speak, disregarding all the consequences that came with admitting such a thing in such an inappropriate situation. And then the sound of an engine in the distance suddenly cut you off.

Everyone moved onto their feet, on alert due to the incoming vehicle.

“Stand down everyone. It’s friendly,” said Jackson.

You weren’t too sure ‘friendly’ had been the right term as you watched Peeta step out of the rover Coin had sent him in.

His arrival brought with him a heightened sense of tension. There was no telling what state of mind he was in or when he was going to snap and become the violent hijacked version of himself. Finnick had decided to take on the responsibility of assigning himself Peeta’s guard to make sure he didn’t cause harm to anyone in the squad or himself. Also because that’s just who Finnick was. Selfless and kind.

And where Finnick went, so did you, meaning his already highly protective nature over you increased monumentally. He never let you out of his sight, always kept you within arms-length, and always kept a hand somewhere on your body. You really, really did try to contain yourself. You tried to suppress the heat flushing your entire body. Tried not to sigh every time his fingers pressed into your waist the slightest bit or whenever he curled his hand around your inner thigh and gave it a territorial squeeze as you sat beside each other on the leather couch. But it was so hard when he was acting so dominating over you.

Even Peeta who was aloof and struggling with his sanity half the time seemed to notice Finnick’s sudden possessiveness.

“Afraid I’m gonna try and take her off you, Finnick?” Peeta had said.

It was meant to be a joke, but the tone of his voice was so flat and devoid of life, it made you feel a little uneasy.

Finnick’s hold on you tightened ever-so-slightly and his jaw clenched. It must have been so strange for him. You hadn’t known Peeta before moving to District Thirteen, but Finnick did. You had heard stories of the boy who enjoyed baking and painting, who was known for his love for Katniss and his kindness that never wavered even when thrown into an arena and forced to murder other tributes.

That was the boy Finnick knew; the person in front of him now was a stranger.

Peeta must have sensed the tension he had caused as he averted his gaze. “Kidding.” And then a few seconds later, he murmured, “Sorry.”

You felt terrible watching as the little life he had in his eyes seemed to deflate even more than they had as he internally berated himself. How awful it must be to not have control over yourself, to be a broken shell of the person you once were. You couldn’t imagine the same happening to Finnick—the light he exuded dimming to a cold, dark, pale glow. The mere thought of it had your heart threatening to break in two.

Finnick’s grip on you relaxed and his eyes grew softer. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, empathy pervading his voice. He was quiet for a short moment before he started smiling softly to himself. “But Peeta—” Peeta’s attention was back on him “—just for future reference: sharing is caring is not a concept I apply to Y/N.”

For the first time since his rescue, you saw Peeta smile back at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

**********

Darkness had finally veiled the city, drenching the bar in ominous shadows and beams of silver moonlight. Silence filled the room apart from the occasional startled gasp or yelp as multiple squad members awoke from horrific nightmares. The very back of the bar was scattered with various sleeping figures, most lying on the floor in an attempt to remain unseen from any potential passers-by outside.

It was your shift on watch, hours twenty-two hundred to zero-one hundred. You were sitting on the same leather stool as earlier but now it was positioned so that you had a clear view of the streets outside.

Finnick had tried to convince Boggs to let him take your shift for you, being his usual chivalrous self and all. But much to his dismay, not even his charm and million-dollar smile could persuade that man. Then he offered to join you, but you refused. Spending time alonewith him atnight would have been disastrous; even during the day, you had a hard time keeping your feelings under wraps.

The final stretch was coming up with twenty minutes to go. The boredom was a killer, leaving you to alternate between scanning the streets and glancing over to where Finnick slept. Well, knowing him, he was probably wide awake worrying about you being left alone for three hours, picturing different anxiety-inducing scenarios behind his closed eyes.

One of his legs was arched whilst the other was extended flat on the floor. He had an arm behind his head acting as a pillow and his other hand was lying on his stomach, fingers subtly tapping in a wave-like pattern.

Definitely awake.

That little detail certainly fuelled your imagination, knowing he was right there lying awake with you on his mind whilst everyone else was probably asleep. What really had your mind buzzing was the fact that the hem of his jacket had ridden up, just barely exposing the tanned skin of his torso and the contour of his v-line which led down to his—wait, was he smiling?

Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but you swore his lips were curving into a small smirk. But that would mean he knew you were staring at him…

You turned back around to the streets, blushing deeply.

“No,” you murmured to yourself. “You’re just tired.”

Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t. But as you stared out into the night air, the only image that plagued your mind was one of Finnick fucking Odair smirking.

Goosebumps washed over your body, sensitive against the rough material of your attire. First, he was smirking, then he was taking you into his arms, then he was kissing you, caressing you, sliding a hand beneath your shirt, into your pants. You almost reached the part you enjoyed the most, but a troubling noise pulled you from your thoughts. A pair of footsteps.

Heavy and purposeful, they came from behind you.

Oh god, you thought, feeling the anticipation build exponentially inside you. He saw me looking. He knows. He knows what I’ve been thinking all day. He knows. What am I going to do? What am I going to say? What—

“Hey,” a deep voice said quietly.

You looked up to find Katniss’s blue-eyed counterpart standing beside the couch.

“Gale?”

Oh, thank god.

“Yeah.” He sat down beside you with a soft grunt. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Even he knew you were expecting Finnick. You shook your head at him as if the idea was absurd, but in reality, you were a little disappointed. Although your shoulders were only just now dropping back into a relaxed state, you found a deep part of yourself actually wanting Finnick to come and find you out. The anticipation, harrowing as it was, was also exhilarating.

All you could think about was him interrogating you, pulling answers from your lips with just a stern look. Towering over you in his black tactical gear, muscular arms crossed and shoulders broad. Teasing you in an unforgiving tone for thinking such dirty things about him even though you knew he was having the exact same thoughts.

Gale shifted beside you and you suddenly realised you had spoken in well over a minute.

You cleared your throat. “Can’t sleep?”

He stared straight ahead, breathing out a half-hearted chuckle as though your question was a fleeting amusement. “Course not.”

Gale was alright. He was a little too headstrong and insensitive at times, but he wasn’t terrible. Pretty much anyone who wasn’t Snow or stood with Capitol was alright in your books. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, didn’t like him one bit.

“You know if Finnick sees you, you’re in for it, right?” you warned, giving him a short glance.

“He doesn’t like me very much, does he?”

Your eyebrows raised, inhaling a deep breath as you recalled their brief history. The first time they met, Gale had believed Finnick was in love with Katniss—something the two of you found humour in almost religiously—and therefore, spent most his days shooting glares and making snide comments towards him.

It came as quite a shock to Gale when he discovered it wasn’t Katniss who Finnick was in love with, but you. How he hadn’t realised sooner was beyond the both of you as you and Finnick were pretty much attached to the hip. He got there in the end, at least.

First impressions were everything though. After that, Finnick never really grew to enjoy Gale’s presence too much. During field training for the rebellion, Fate decided to spur on their little feud even further by having you be paired up with Gale for training exercises. Neither of you was very happy about it in the beginning, wanting to be with each other’s loved ones instead. Shockingly, your shared time together sparked up a small friendship.

Finnick wasn’t the most approving.

“He thinks you like me,” you said.

He looked at you, brows furrowed. “I do like you.”

See? Even Gale couldn’t comprehend what you really meant because of how ridiculous it was. You shot him a knowing look.

His expression morphed into one of understanding. “Oh, as in like you like you. Really? Does he not know that I li—”

“Like Katniss? Yes, I’ve told him many times.”

“Well, I guess some people just won’t be told.”

You scoffed, recalling how he had the same way of thinking not too long ago. Oh, how the tables have turned. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Gale laughed quietly, nodding as his gaze moved back to the darkness. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Your head whirled to the side, heart jolting in your chest.

There Finnick was, standing beside the stool as he smiled politely at you and Gale, his eyes burning with anything but civility. Your heart dropped at the sight of him. Down into your stomach and then even further below in between your thighs.

His lips twitched as he looked between the two of you. His piercing eyes settled on yours for a moment; the way you gulped was almost comical.

“No,” Gale said cautiously. “Just passing time.”

Finnick nodded indifferently and averted his gaze as though he hadn’t a worry in the world. You knew better though. You knew there was a fire scorching just below his skin, boiling in his bloodstream—the common symptoms of jealousy. They were symptoms you knew all too well. People often had trouble keeping their eyes off him back in Thirteen. Sometimes their hands too. That’s when your jealousy turned to loathing. A feeling you and Finnick both shared whenever it happened.

“Then you won’t mind if I join you?” he asked, although it came out more like a command.

Was it wrong to find Finnick being jealous so attractive?

“Actually, I, uh,” Gale stammered, pushing himself up onto his feet, “I should probably be getting some sleep.”

You couldn’t blame his slight panic. Finnick could be incredibly intimidating when he wanted to be.

Gale shot you a tight parting smile and you mouthed an apology in return.

“Wise choice,” Finnick said as Gale walked past him and began making his way to the back of the bar. You were surprised neither of them knocked shoulders as he did. Though Finnick did add a sarcastic “Sweet dreams!” as you both watched Gale disappear into the shadows.

You turned back to Finnick to see him already looking at you, pride gleaming in his eyes. What a man.

“You’re such an ass.”

He smiled at you humorously. “Only to him.”

You shook your head. “He doesn’t even—”

“Like you? Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, and a flash of a smile graced your lips at the way he cut you off the same way you did Gale. Always so in tune with each other. Honestly, it was a wonder you ever managed to have a conversation with one another. He sat down beside you, his legs brushing against yours. “Call me possessive. Maybe a little obsessed too.”

“A little?”

“Okay, very.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, smiling openly now, “the feeling’s mutual.”

He returned your smile with one of his own and for a second, for a tiny splinter of a second, you had a flicker of hope that you might be able to handle being alone with him after all.

“Well, I’d certainly hope so,” he murmured warmly.

Then his hand was sliding onto your thigh, fingers curling and kneading innocently.

It was like a fiery aura suddenly reignited around him, both magnetising and disastrously alluring. Your eyes widened slightly from his touch. That overwhelming attraction from before returned with a tenfold increase in intensity. It was so powerful that you had to look away.

A deafening silence settled between you. Despite this, your thoughts were thunderous; so loud that it was impossible to tune them out. He had to know what he was doing to you, how he was making you feel—it was practically scrawled in bold red writing across your forehead.

Your arms were folded over your lap, afraid that if you moved them you would lose control. You glanced at Finnick to see him staring out at the shadowed buildings with a thoughtful gaze. His jaw was set in place, angled perfectly like it had been chiselled with a file. That spot where his jawline and neck connected was just begging for the touch of your lips. Or was it the other way around?

Your eyes fell further to see his other hand resting on his own thigh, clad in now-tightly-fitted black cargo pants.

Big, veiny hands. Big, muscular thighs. Big, throbbing…

Oh, no, this was all too much. You were supposed to be fighting a war, not your own damn carnal urges.

“You’ve barely spoken to me today,” Finnick suddenly spoke in a gentle tone. The guilt increased. “If you’re feeling like this is too much to handle then there’s no shame in going back home.” Shame. Guilt. Too much. “We can return to base and get a hovercraft back to Thirteen. Both of us. I’ll be right by your side. Always.”

God, you loved him so much.

“I love you so much,” you accidentally exhaled.

His expression morphed into one of puzzlement, reflecting what you felt on the inside when the words slipped past your lips. “I love you too?” he chuckled.

You quickly tried to recompose yourself. “But—uh, it’s—it’s not that.”

“No?” He tilted his head. “What is it then?”

On the outside you were composed, disregarding the hot pink flooding your cheeks, although it was probably too dark to be seen. But on the inside, panicked mantras ricocheted from every corner of your mind over and over. A war between two sides, two voices that said, “Tell him” and “Don’t tell him” was raging. You were starting to grow tired of the constant indecision, the ever-present need to confess, and the unrelenting tightness in your stomach you felt whenever you so much as thought about him.

So finally, you decided to create a side of your own. You were going to show him.

Your eyes dropped to the hand curled around your thigh and you inhaled a silent deep breath. Tentatively, you unfolded your arms and moved to rest your hand on top of Finnick’s. He remained still, only watching your movements with curiosity. Your gaze trailed up his arm, over his broad shoulders, the tempting length of his neck, the sharpness of his jaw, and then finally landed on his hypnotically green eyes.

He was looking at you and you were looking at him. There was no point in trying to conceal the fervent darkness manifesting in your gaze nor how it kept dropping to his soft pink lips. He noticed. You knew he did because he too was starting to succumb to the darkness and, fuck, did it look incredible on him.

You hadn’t meant to do it—squeezing your thighs around his hand. It was just, the ache was growing too much for you to handle without relief, and he looked so damn good.

Finnick’s eyes squinted ever-so-slightly at your revealing gesture and they seemed to impossibly grow a shade darker.

“What have you been thinking about?” he asked slowly.

And it was at this point you were certain that he was finally coming to some understanding. It was easy to tell from his twisted smile and scrunched brows, the way he spoke as though he was baiting you into giving an answer he already knew.

Your lips parted as you stared up at him, finding your breaths to become shaky and slightly heavier as the tension thickened. Finnick’s fingertips pressed firmly into your inner thighs and you let out a quiet gasp.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

“Hm?” he pressed further.

Somehow the space between you and Finnick had closed drastically without you even noticing. His face was five or so inches away from yours, peering down at you with a smirk he was trying to repress. He smelled of sea salt and smoky debris though still had a hint of that one rich scent of cologne you always found so intoxicating.

“I’ve been…”

He was closer now. You could feel his breath fanning across your skin.

“You’ve been…?” he enticed, knowing he was making it so much harder for you to conjure the words.

Your hand was clutching his because if he so much as shifted a millimetre, you would lose it. You couldn’t move. Your eyes were on Finnick’s lips, watching as they grew closer and closer. How could he expect you to tell him anything when you were immobilised from his touch? How could he tease you so when you were very obviously having a hard time keeping yourself composed?

Instinctively, your head was beginning to tilt forward to give him easier access, even though you knew he wouldn’t give you anything unless you gave him an answer first. But you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t. The words were there on the tip of your tongue, but they wouldn’t leave your mouth. And you were absolutely certain of this when the warm touch of his soft lips grazed your own.

It was too much. Too much and too wrong.

“I’m thinking…” you began with a whisper, feeling your lips ghost over his, “it’s your turn to keep watch, Solider.”

His eyes snapped up to yours as you pulled away.

Without a word, you rose to your feet, feeling Finnick’s hand slide off your thigh; for a split second, you regretted your decision. You turned away, inhaling shaky breaths as you attempted to round the corner of the leather stool. Anxiety buzzed through your entire body and rightfully so, because just as you made it around the bend, you heard a pair of rushed footsteps trailing after you.

Suddenly, an arm was wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you backwards.

A startled gasp made it halfway past your lips before a large hand was clamped over your mouth. The other, which had forced you backwards, was splayed across your lower abdomen—very much lower, mind you—and had your back trapped against the firm torso of your capture.

Your heart was already thrumming like a hummingbird inside your chest, but it just about gave out when you felt the hard length pressed against your backside.

Finnick’s words were hot in your ear. “That’s not fair, sweetheart,” he spoke, his tone disapproving and full of false offence. “You’ve been giving me the eyes all day, yet you can’t even admit it when I ask nicely?”

Horror ran cold through your blood and your eyes widened.

He must have sensed the rigidness in your body as the next sound that came from his mouth was a low chuckle. “What, you thought I hadn’t noticed?”

You were in shock. Borderline catatonic in his arms. Every time you crossed your legs whenever the pressure between them became too much. Every time you fell behind the group to watch him walk. Every time you stared at him imagining that he was pounding into you or had his mouth between your thighs. He knew. The whole fucking time, he knew.

The hand covering your mouth lowered to your neck and held it gently, thumb stroking a delicate trail over your skin as Finnick awaited your response. You were hastily scanning the room in front of you, praying that all its occupants were either dead asleep or blinded by the darkness.

“I didn’t mean to,” you squeaked out. “I tried to—to control it.”

Your head was turned abruptly and suddenly shadowed green eyes were peering down into your own.

“You didn’t mean to,” he mocked. “That’s what you tell yourself, sweetheart, but every time you looked in my direction, you were dragging me towards you.”

His hand, which was on your stomach, lowered a quarter inch and your own hand went flying to prevent it. Not because you didn’t want him to go any further, but because you were scared of having an… audible reaction that might reveal both you and Finnick to the group.

“And deep down that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he continued.

Your lips were parted though not a single word could pass them. Your inner brows were cinched upwards, the speechlessness evident in your expression. Finnick quickly realised this was the case and his eyes twinkled with mischief under the moonlight.

He lowered his head into the space between your jaw and shoulders, pressing an agonisingly slow kiss to your neck. Your head automatically tilted to the side, a soft sigh escaping your mouth as your eyes closed.

He then returned to hover beside your ear. “Wasn’t it?” he asked again, the sound smooth like warm honey.

And you couldn’t help but submit to his trickery. “Yes,” you whispered, leaning into his chest as a silent plea for more.

“Tell me.”

Your eyes fluttered open. “What?”

His hand dipped much further below your lower abdomen and landed on the place which would surely have you both sent back to Thirteen if caught, but only for a fleeting moment. Before you had a chance to react, he had spun you around to face him.

From the way he was looking down upon you—so penetrative and depraved—you knew exactly how the night would end. For better or for worse. He was holding you tightly against his body, the only parts of yourself not touching him were your lips, although that would undoubtedly soon change.

“Tell me,” he said, lowering himself until his lips found your jaw, “what you’ve been thinking about—” Then he placed another kiss on the side of your neck “—all day.” And then he pressed another to your collarbone.

Your fingers had found themselves delving into his hair as he continued leaving hot kisses across your skin. The struggle to keep a whine or soft moan from slipping past your parted lips was excruciating. Finnick could definitely feel your struggle from the way you were lightly tugging at his hair.

“Tell me,” he repeated against your skin and you accidentally let a heavy, pleasured breath escape.

There was no point in denying him now.

“You just look so good, Finn,” you confessed.

You were certain you could feel him smiling into each kiss he placed. He only hummed to encourage you further, so you did.

“I’ve—I’ve never seen you in all black before or in tactical gear. And the way you’ve been acting towards me, so serious and protective and…” The word dominant was on your tongue, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to speak it aloud. “Seeing you like that really…” He finally lifted his head from your neck, lips now a deep peachy shade, gaze awaiting your words. You lowered your eyes bashfully for a moment before returning them to his. “…turned me on.”

He was grinning now. His head had tilted an inch to the side as though he hadn’t quite expected you to actually admit your thoughts. Where the sudden surge of confidence came from was unknown, but you welcomed it nonetheless. Finnick’s mouth opened to speak but it was then in that very moment that you decided why the hell not just get it all out at once?

So, you stood on your toes, placed a hand on the back of his neck, and brought him down to your lips to cut him off. You kissed him deeply, sensually, in a way that would muddle his thoughts and give you time to continue your confession. When you were done and saw that slightly dazed look in his eyes, you knew it had worked.

“I’m not finished,” you whispered.

All he could do was scoff quietly in disbelief. Hell, even you were in disbelief of yourself.

“At first, I thought somehow you had done it on purpose. You do love to tease me, don’t you?” you asked, although it was rhetorical. “But then I realised it wasn’t your doing. It was the designers back in Thirteen who I had to thank for putting you in something like this.” You slid a hand up his torso, over his chest, and then down the length of his bicep, and he watched you every step of the way.

“Maybe I should thank them myself if this is the effect it has,” Finnick said.

You kissed him again and he seemed to understand the meaning behind it: shut up. He nodded, smirking humorously, and you continued. “Do you know how hard it was for me to sit beside you and do absolutely nothing?” you asked, but he knew better than to answer. You pressed a hand to his chest and slowly began walking him backwards. “You did, didn’t you?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed back his words. He always liked being in control. But it was your turn now. He stared down at you, thoughts of sin visible in his eyes as you spoke.

“You knew the whole time,” you said. “But, you know, the idea I had of you being so clueless turned me on even more.” You continued walking him backwards until his legs hit the edge of the leather stool and he was forced to sit down and have you look down upon him. He looked good like that, you thought. “Especially whenever you put your hand on my thigh.”

With that being said, you lowered yourself onto Finnick’s thigh, straddling him with one leg on either side. Your hands were holding onto his broad, broad shouldersandhis arms automatically wound around your waist. He had this strange look on his face as he gazed up at you, a mix of admiration and love and… submission? Yes, submission.

You pushed his hair back from his forehead, fingers affectionately combing through the soft bronze strands. He only watched you in silence. Finnick Odair had never been rendered speechless in his life. Having it be first done so by you only made him love you so much more. He would daresay he was proud.

“Every time you put your hand on me, I imagined this,” you said, putting more of your weight on his thigh until you could feel the blissful pressure between your own. A hot shaky sigh left your mouth. “I… I imagined you holding me like this, looking at me the way you are right now.” A little smile stretched across his lips. “I didn’t think it would actually happen. Not like this. This is wrong.”

Finnick dragged your body closer to him and you suppressed the urge to moan. His brows were furrowed together with a look of firmness. “There’s nothing wrong with you loving me,” he finally spoke. “Nothing wrong with me loving you, either.”

“But in a time like this? A place like this?”

He didn’t miss a beat as he smirked and shrugged. “We just have to be quiet about it.”

You stared at him for a moment. He made it sound so simple, like doing something like this could be done with ease. There was a large group of people—soldiers, no less—thirty feet away from you. Yes, they were sleeping and, yes, the darkness was too blinding in the back of the bar to see a foot ahead of you, but still, if anyone somehow saw, that would be the end of your dignity.

Finnick seemed to notice the distant look in your eye. His hands moved down to your hips and he tensed the thigh you were straddling, holding you down on his leg as he bounced it once. The sound that came out of your mouth, a noise of shock and pleasure, almost made him laugh. What it did do was make him even harder than he already was.

“You’ve tortured me all day, Finnick,” you whined, pressing your forehead to his.

He brought a hand to your cheek, stroking the line of your cheekbone with tenderness. “And what is it that you think you have done to me every single day since we first met, sweetheart? I just had to make sure there wasn’t a power imbalance in this relationship, that’s all.”

“You’re cruel.”

“So cruel,” he agreed with the slightest teasing pout. “I’m just horrible, aren’t I?”

To emphasise his point, he brought both his hands back to your hips, held you down, and slowly began rocking you back and forth over his thigh. Your stomach dropped and pulsed and, christ, you wouldn’t have been surprised if it had turned inside out altogether. A moan, too loud for your comfort, left your mouth. You couldn’t help it. This was exactly what you had been daydreaming about all day.

“You are,” you whispered with a shaky breath. “Horrible, cruel, and—and incredibly frustrating…”

He tsked his tongue. “I know,” he cooed, continuing to force your hips to grind on his thigh. “Should I make it up to you?”

“I might go crazy if you don’t.”

He wore a lopsided grin. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

And as suddenly and beautifully as stars could collide, your lips were on his. It was like a bout of adrenaline had surged through your body. Your hands were in Finnick’s hair, desperately pulling him closer all while tugging at the strands so he would leave those deep, pleasured sounds on your lips.

His hands were everywhere. They had left your hips because it was clear that you were now doing to work of getting yourself off for him and now he was grasping at any place on your body he could reach. He had encircled your waist and pulled you tightly against him. He had held you by the back of the neck, by the jaw, by the neck. He had managed to undo your ponytail, letting your hair fall around your face like a barrier from the outside world.

He had slid his hands under your jacket and left a trail of warmth up your spine, fingers pressing into the ridges of your shoulder blades as his tongue factored in to deepen the kiss. You would never get used to it—how he managed to make every kiss and act of devotion feel like the first. You would never get used to Finnick’s love.

You held onto his shoulders, grinding yourself down over and over, feeling the firmness of his thigh and the roughness of your pants rub against your clit. Your lips parted from his for a mere second as you moaned. It felt so good yet still, you knew it could be even better. It was all too much—the sensations, the risk, the way Finnick looked—and still not enough. You wanted to be closer to him.

Your leg which was in between his was rubbing against his cock each time you moved. Even through all those layers of clothing you could feel it, hard and aching. All those sounds you knew he was keeping locked up inside, the deep guttural groans, the shaky moans, you wanted to hear them. Fuck, you so desperately wanted to hear them.

“Finn…” you sighed contently as you broke away from his lips.

Hips still grinding, you peered at him through your lashes. His eyes were closed, eyebrows scrunched together as though he were suppressing the pleasure he was feeling. Anywhere but here, you thought, why couldn’t we be anywhere but here?

“Finnick…” you whispered again.

He slowly opened his eyes, and you leaned your forehead against his. A heavy exhale left his body, one he must have been holding in. “God, you’re perfect,” he sighed and reached a hand up to cup your jaw. “I love you so much. Do you know how much I love you?”

Bombs were going off in your chest, each one exploding with every thump of your heart. It was fitting considering your circumstances. Finnick was so beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, and you loved him with every inch of your entire being and you wanted to say the words because this very well could be your last night alive together, but you weren’t too sure if you could speak without making any other type of noise.

So, you brought your lips back to his once more, kissing him oh so deeply and reverently. I love you, I love you, I love you. And then his touch was gone entirely.

You had slid off his thigh, now on your feet as you looked down at him. He looked almost pained to have you out of his arms and you were certain you looked the same, though it wouldn’t be for long. After a quick scan of the dark surroundings, you deduced that there was no way anyone could see you from the back of the bar. You returned your gaze back to Finnick.

Eyes unrelenting from his, you began slowly dragging down the zipper on your jacket. As it fell to the floor, you moved on to pulling your undershirt over your head. Finnick’s attention never wavered. He followed each and every movement you made, his chest inflating more heavily with each deep breath he took.

After unbuttoning your pants and letting them slide to the floor, you stepped out of the pile of clothing, completely bare except for your underwear and bra. It wasn’t exactly warm nor cold but being so exposed in the dead of night in a place you were supposed to be keeping watch while under the watchful wandering gaze of your love was bound to shroud your body in chills.

You hugged your arms around yourself.

Finnick simply looked at you as though you were the most, if not, the only beautiful thing that had ever graced the earth.

“Come here,” he said softly, holding out his hand.

The confidence you had previously felt simmered down into meek submission the second you had stripped bare in front of him. So, as you walked towards him, you couldn’t help but feel the timidness reveal itself in each of your steps. Your hand glided into his and he gently pulled you forward, guiding you to straddle his entire lap instead of just his thigh.

You could feel him pressing into you, his cock separated by mere millimetres of fabric from where you needed him most. It felt even more intimate to have his clothing against your exposed skin; you could feel the warmth of his body trapped within the threads of his pants and jacket and it seemed to ease your nerves.

He reached between your bodies and started to unzip his own jacket, but wasn’t the main reason you were in this position because of his clothing? Why would you want him to take them off?

Before he could unzip, you placed your hand over his. “No,” you said. “Leave it on.”

His eyes flickered silently between yours. “No one’s ever told me to keep my clothes on before,” he said, and you could tell by his confused smile that he was unsure whether to feel amused by the irony of your actions or saddened by his past with the Capitol.

It was easy for you to decipher your own feelings—your heart ached for him.

You leaned forward and took his face into your hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then both his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and finally to his lips. All you could do was hope he felt the immeasurable love you placed into each one.

“You are just as attractive with your clothes on as you are when they’re not,” you whispered.

And it was true. If he at any point decided he no longer wanted you to see him naked, you would respect it, you would understand it, and honestly, it just wouldn’t phase you. Because you knew that he would react the same if the roles were reversed. Because your love for each other surpassed the bounds of your physical bodies and you were certain at the dawn of time, he and you were two atoms revolving around one another with the same amount of gravity and reverence you shared now.

Finnick’s hands were now gliding up and down your back; it was like he was setting a fire beneath your skin. His eyes were staring into yours, so full of emotion that you weren’t sure whether or not you should continue.

“Tell me you don’t want this, Finn,” you said, “and we’ll stop.”

He shook his head and offered you a small smile. “I want this,” he said, earnestly. “I want you, sweetheart. Right here. Right now.” And then he was holding your face in his hands as well, bringing you closer. “Always.”

Just before his lips found yours, you whispered in response, in agreement, “Always.”

He was kissing you again, smothering you with love. You had never thought suffocation could feel so heavenly. Over and over, his lips captured yours, each movement deepening the kiss, making it grow in power until you were both gasping for air each time you had a brief respite.

You had only realised you were rolling your hips again when both you and Finnick were moaning into each other’s mouths and your clit started to grow sensitive from the friction of his bulged pants. It really didn’t take long at all for your stomach to begin tightening with pleasure.

You held onto his shoulders, using them to grind yourself faster on his lap as your need for release grew wilder by the second. But no matter how hard or fast you moved, it still wasn’t enough.

“I can’t wait anymore,” you murmured against his lips.

Your hands dropped down to the lower half of his body, pulling up the bottom of his jacket to reveal his belt. You fumbled with the clasp, hastily trying to unbuckle it. Finnick noticed your struggle and lifted his hips into your pelvis—dear fucking god—making it easier for you to tug the belt from the loops of his pants.

“Eager, huh?” he said with a smirk.

“You say that—” The belt hit the ground with a clink, and you winced “—as if you aren’t as well.”

“But I’m not the one with my hand down your pants, am I?”

You wanted to respond with some witty remark about not even wearing any pants, but you had already unzipped his flier and had your fingers curled around his cock. He cursed under his breath.

A winning smile stretched across your lips. “You were saying?”

You watched as his cock sprung past his flier, the length riddled with veins coming from the base and lining up to his warm pink tip which was already coated in a light shine. You would’ve made some teasing comment but given the soaked patch you had left over his groin, you decided otherwise.

As you stroked him up and down, Finnick wiped his hand over his mouth, muffling a groan into his palm. God, he was even worse than you. You loved it.

There was something so alluring about him being covered head-to-toe in black while having the most intimate part of himself exposed. Even more so when you were nearly naked in comparison. The scarce uncovered parts of his body had you feeling compelled to reach out and touch him. Your hand twisted around his cock with each pump and as it did, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to the hot skin of his neck.

“Fuck,” he breathed out.

You sucked, he sighed and tilted his head to the side, and then you sucked again. The knowledge that the next day what you two had done would be obvious from the colours of red and purple hadn’t occurred to you yet. You just wanted to taste him. Taste the salt and sweetness of his skin, the unique flavour that made Finnick Finnick. And you wanted to feel him. Badly.

Leaning back, you found that his eyes were already on yours. It was clear at that moment you shared the same thoughts—and they were both dark and lustful. The emotional atmosphere from before had long since disappeared.

“I need you, Finnick,” you said.

He said nothing. He did nothing, all except for wearing the faintest expression of amusement as he stared at you. Why must he always make things so difficult for you? And why did he always look so good doing it? You increased your grip around him, giving his length another pump in the hopes he would react. All he did was swallow some noise of gratification.

Your stomach was pulsing with a burning desire, leading all the way down to your cunt which contracted around nothing.

“Please,” you begged, your other hand gripping onto his jacket. “It hurts.”

His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he slowly scanned your body. If he continued looking at you that way, you thought you might actually ruin his pants with how wet you were. You were worried if he did nothing, if he simply stared at you like he was, you would come just from the heat of his gaze. And you didn’t want that. You wanted to come with him inside you.

He inhaled deeply and looked away as if your plea was something he genuinely had to ponder. The nerve he had. Then he looked back at you with the sexiest—or so you deemed at the moment—smile you had ever witnessed.

“Well…” he began, “you know how much I hate seeing you in pain.” Relief flooded through your entire body. He nodded his head as a gesture for you to sit up. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Without a second thought, you rose to your knees with the help of Finnick’s hands which were beneath your thighs. You were desperately fiddling with your underwear, unsure of how to go about taking it off. You tried to push it to the side, but the material wouldn’t stay; getting off of Finnick’s lap to take them off seemed unthinkable now, so having felt hopeless, you whimpered.

“Here,” Finnick said, and then he effortlessly ripped the fabric apart and pulled it from your body, exposing your heat to the tepid night air.

Shock came and left within milliseconds, your mind being too preoccupied with other matters to contemplate his sudden actions. Besides, going commando for the next few days didn’t seem too bad a price to pay for what was about to happen.

You guided his cock to your entrance, feeling the tip just barely push through your slick folds. The both of you watched as you sunk down on him, engulfing his entire length inside you and just as such, you both let your heads fall back and let out a quiet synchronised moan in response.

“Every time,” Finnick whispered ambiguously.

Though he didn’t need to elaborate for you to understand what he meant. Every time somehow managed to feel even better than the last. Every time you would forget how much you actually needed each other. Every time he was inside you, it felt like you were home.

“I know,” you breathed in response.

His hands were on your hips, acting as a guide as you rose, feeling his cock glide through your tight walls before you swallowed him whole once again. Your arms were wrapped loosely around his neck, chest brushing over his with each movement you made. It then came to your attention that the only piece of clothing you had left on was your bra.

The small amount of fabric hardly served you any purpose any more, considering the rest of your body was already on show for the whole world to see. Finnick seemed to have the same idea; he reached one hand up your back and used it to skilfully unhook your bra and slide it off your shoulders. Was it already mentioned that he did all of this one-handed?

Reality quickly set in when your bra fell to the ground—you were riding Finnick, completely naked, in the middle of a rebellion, while at heavy risk of being caught. Anyone else might have thought those string of words to be shameful, disturbing even, but for some odd reason, you no longer seemed to care. About any of it. All that mattered was that Finnick was inside you and he loved you as much as you loved him. Nothing else bore any significance.

You leaned back, so overwhelmed with pleasure that you had to close your eyes, hands still digging into his shoulders as your hips rolled and rose and sank, over and over. Finnick took this as an opportunity to bury his face between your breasts, leaving harsh kisses and moans that vibrated into your skin and hardened the peaks of your nipples.

Your fingers had tangled within the waves of his hair, unconsciously pushing him further into you because the things he could do with his mouth, things as simple as kissing, felt breathtaking. Literally. At this point, you were practically gulping air into your lungs because it felt like he was stealing your breath with each touch his lips made to your chest.

“Oh, god,” you whined, looking up to the sky above as if the heavens could somehow replenish you. Although, you weren’t sure they would be holding you in the highest regard in a moment like this.

Finnick was buried deep inside you as you stayed seated on his cock, unable to find the strength to push yourself upwards anymore. Now you were just rocking yourself indulgently back and forth on his lap, feeling his tip curve repeatedly into your walls and his pants rub harshly against your ass. The muscles in your stomach began tensing and you knew what was soon coming.

Your moans had started out breathless and soft, but as your movements continued, they began rising in pitch, in interval, and in volume. Finnick had no choice but to—heartbreakingly—leave your breasts and return to your mouth to stop the sounds from slipping out, however much they made his aching cock throb.

When it seemed like you had gotten yourself under control, he broke away from your lips to say, “Gotta stay quiet, baby, or else we’ll—” And then he quickly kissed you again to dampen another moan that he noticed was about to escape “—get caught.”

You gave him a sheepish look, biting your bottom lip to keep quiet. “I know, I’m sorry,” you rushed out in a single breath. “I can’t help it. Y’just so deep inside me. Feels so—”

He jerked his hips up, cock thrusting harshly and purposely up into you. Of course, you gasped loudly. That son of a bitch.

“Yeah?” he said, tilting his head to the side.

You sighed, shaking your head at him. “Asshole.”

He laughed and you could feel it rumbling in your own chest. His eyes were both sea-green and pitch black with darkness as he stared at you through the messy strands of hair strewn across his forehead. Believing he had no idea what he was doing to you all day was idiotic. Of course, he had known. Everything he ever did was in an attempt to rile you up and it always worked.

He knew he was attractive. He knew you found him painfully attractive. Fuck, why was he just so goddamn attractive?

“Hang on,” he said, tearing you from your thoughts.

“What?”

Your stomach lurched and suddenly your body was in the air. Technically, Finnick was still holding you in his arms, but still, you were in the air. Both his hands were curled beneath your thighs as he had stood up from the leather seat, hoisting you over six feet off the ground.

“Finnick!” you exclaimed with a half-whisper.

You were clinging onto his neck in fear of plummeting to the concrete ground. But, come on, this was Finnick. In what universe would he ever cause you any harm?

“Well, I’m not going to let you do all the work,” he said before kissing you sweetly, causing both your grasp on him to loosen and your body to practically melt into his. He pulled away once more, grinning like the devil he was. “If that’s alright with you?”

Your body bounced in his arms as he secured his hold on you and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“More than alright,” you said.

He pressed a light kiss to your nose and whispered, “Good,” and suddenly your back was up against something hard and cold and the brief light-hearted atmosphere had vanished.

Finnick’s body was pressed against yours, trapping you between himself and the concrete pillar which was behind you. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hardplace. His much wider and taller frame made you feel incredibly small in comparison, almost vulnerable in his strong arms, and you loved it. He had you completely concealed from anyone’s view, should they have regrettably walked by, which meant you would at least have a moment’s notice before your virtue was shredded to bits.

Now, back to being stuck between hard places. You hadn’t even noticed he had slipped out of you until he was holding himself in his hand, keeping you propped up against the wall with nothing but his other arm and his body strength, and was thrusting back inside you.

Blood was nearly being drawn from how hard you were biting your bottom lip because Finnick didn’t give you a chance to prepare yourself. His hands were digging into your ass and he was suddenly fucking you so hard, you were worried the concrete behind you would crumble under pressure. You were worried your willpower wasn’t strong enough to hold back the filthy moans threatening to tumble out.

How could you be quiet when all you wanted to do was show him how euphoric he was making you feel?

“How’s that, huh?” he asked roughly. “You like that, sweetheart?”

He was hitting just the right spot inside of you, angled perfectly and thrusting deeply. The skin of your back was scratching against the rough concrete surface with each of his thrusts and maybe it made you a little fucked up to admit it, but the pain of your skin being rubbed red raw while being fucked senseless was exhilarating.

Your head fell back against the wall, so hard the world was suddenly spinning on an axis. It was perfect. Finnick was perfect. Everything was perfect. Your eyes fluttered shut and everything of any other significance disappeared.

That is the only reason you allowed yourself to moan as loud as you did.

“Fuck!”

A large hand had been slapped over the entire lower half of your face and your own also jerked up to cover it in instant regret. Your eyes snapped wide open to see Finnick staring at you with the same visible alarm. You looked over his shoulder to scan for any sign of disturbance but after a few seconds, it became clear no one had heard you.

You looked back to Finnick, who, mind you, was still thrusting in and out of you though with a little less vigour. He was very clearly trying not to laugh. “I guess I’ll take that as a yes.”

You smiled against his hand which he took as a sign to lower it back to beneath your ass. First, you were grinning, then you were trying not to laugh and obviously failed, and then you were both trying to stifle your laughs together as if he wasn’t quite literally fucking you against a wall. The only thing that could break your spell of laughter was the need to bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another unwarranted moan.

Finnick pressed his body further against you, smiling wickedly as his cock pushed deeper inside you. You whimpered, fingernails creating red crescent moons on the back of his neck. He didn’t mind.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured.

You leaned forward to press a trembling kiss to his lips. “Love you too, Finn.”

“Mm,” he hummed, gratified.

Your legs, which were curled around his hips, tightened around him. If there was any way to bring him closer, you would have done it. If there was any way a person could crawl under someone else’s skin and live in their body, you would have been the first to do it. You would have been one with Finnick, wholly and devotedly. That was how much you needed him, how much you cherished him.

Whenever he was inside you, you truly were home.

You were clinging onto him in every way possible. His soft lips were back on yours, gluttonous with love and ardent lust. Your frantic hands were sliding over every part of his body they could reach. Your walls were contracting around his cock; even then, you were pulling him in further. It was all very messy, but it all felt very right.

The protective armour over his chest was rubbing against your bare breasts as your body bounced in his arms. The added stimulation was rendering you restless. That tight, blissful burn was starting to work its way up from your cunt and into your lower stomach, and you couldn’t stop moving. Your legs tightened and loosened around Finnick’s hips. Your chest expanded and inflated shallowly. Your fingers were practically clawing at Finnick’s clothes.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said breathlessly, and then your eyes were staring into his. A strand of hair fell across your face and he brought up a hand to tuck it back behind your ear. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “You can let go.”

Your knuckles were turning white from how hard they were grasping onto his clothed biceps. Like a beating heart, your lower body started pulsating—your stomach, between your legs, your thighs, all the way down to your toes. You were so close to spilling over the edge that everything suddenly became too overwhelming.

Tears sprung into your eyes, both of pleasure and sadness. Pleasure for the way he was making you feel as he thrust into you. Pleasure for the certainty that he loved you as you did him. But sadness for the uncertainty that this could be the last time you expressed your love for each other so intensely. Only the uncertainty wasn’t actually uncertainty.

Somewhere deep, deep inside you, there was a nagging feeling that this really was your last night together. Of course, you couldn’t rely on a nagging feeling as a tell for the future, but it was so strong. It felt so real.

You pulled him forward and crushed your lips to his, immediately falling into a smooth syrup-like rhythm with one another. It tasted sweet for a moment, a dessert consisting of whines from you and restrained groans from Finnick. But then a tear slipped from your eye and the sweetness turned salty.

Finnick pulled back to see the light shine coating your cheek.

He understood. He felt the same way.

“I love you so much,” he said, tenderly wiping away the tears on your skin.

Then he was kissing your shoulder, kissing across your collarbone, kissing up the fragile skin of your neck, the bone of your jaw, and finally back to your lips. Every kiss ravaged your entire being. His cock was curving right up into that sensitive cushiony spot inside you, sliding in and out of you and bringing a heightened sense of bliss each time. You could barely breathe.

It was too much. He was close too, you knew it. Beads of sweat were starting to collect in the strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead; his body leaned further into you, gradually losing strength as his own pleasure grew. He was staring at you the way he always did when he was inside you. Sinfully. Lovingly. And, God, he was breathing so heavily, his grunts and suppressed moans kept slipping through. It was heaven.

Another tear slipped from your eye; from which emotion, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter because you felt incredible. Your whole body was buzzing, the tears kept slipping out, and your reddened parted lips kept letting shallow breaths and choked gasps escape.

“Fuck, I love you,” Finnick said again in a raw, shaky voice, and you wished you could’ve responded but he had already pressed his lips to your forehead and suddenly you were coming.

Your eyes were screwed shut, mouth agape though releasing no noise. You could feel your walls squeeze around his length, covering his cock entirely in sweet white fluid as he hastily continued slamming up into you. His head had fallen to your shoulder, mouth connected with your neck to muffle the guttural sounds he made into your skin as he too filled you up with his own warmth.

You had gone limp in his arms and somehow, he still managed to keep you upright. Existence sort of vanished for a moment or two. Everything and everyone were gone except for you and Finnick. You were pressed so hard up against one another that you were sure any second you would melt into one being.

Eventually, you started to come back down, and your mind started to fill with thoughts once more. Finnick had stilled inside you, catching his breath as he rested against your shoulder. He was trembling, skin warm and damp with sweat against yours. You put your hands on his shoulders, signalling for him to put you down so he could at least regain some amount of strength.

But you hadn’t realised your own problem. As soon as he helped you slip down onto your feet, your weakened legs buckled and gave out beneath you. Before the hard concrete ground could welcome you into its unforgiving arms, Finnick dropped swiftly and caught you in his first. He fell to his knees, cradling your naked form over his lap, arms shaking ever-so-slightly.

A horrible blush overcame you. Your hair was a mess, your face was coated in a light sheen, and you were still naked.

“Sorry,” you whispered, sheepishly.

He shook his head, smiling down at you as though you had nothing to apologise for. His brows did that little scrunch you found so adorable. “You okay?”

You nodded. Had anyone been able to witness the way Finnick Odair looked when he was gazing down at the person he loved, you were certain they would also agree that they were more than just okay. He looked like an angel. It wouldn’t be surprising if a pair of wings suddenly sprung out from his back.

Overcome with love, you reached up to his face, fingers gliding across his jaw. His dimples somehow deepened even more than they already were. You had never seen someone so happy in your life, especially within the confines of a war.

“I wish I could find a more profound way to show my love for you,” you whispered.

His lips twitched and it was as though you could feel his own heart leaping with affection in his chest. His eyes flickered between your own and you knew he was going to say something either witty or something that would have made your knees buckle had they not already done so.

“You don’t need to,” he said. “Your existence is profound enough.”

A few seconds went by before you understood his words—he could feel the immense love you had for him just from your mere existence. You didn’t need to do anything for him to see it, to feel it, or hear it. All you had to do was be by his side, to share the air he breathed. All you had to do was look at him and he could feel the power of it.

You rose into a sitting position, feeling Finnick’s arms curl protectively around your torso. Tears threatened to fill your eyes, but you willed them away. Instead, you planted a gentle kiss on his lips. When you pulled away, a light breeze blew against you, blowing your hair over your shoulders and forcing you to lean further into Finnick’s warm embrace.

“How about we get your clothes back on, hm?” he spoke softly.

You smiled cheekily in response. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked me to put my clothes on before.”

His lips stretched into a lopsided grin, eyes looking down at you with a playful glint as he recalled the very similar conversation you had earlier.

“Well, there’s always a first time for everything, isn’t there?” he teased, fingers lightly tracing the skin of your waist.

Finnick had assisted you with gathering your scattered clothes, even helping you with putting them back on despite your insistence that you were quite capable of doing it yourself. Secretly, you enjoyed it—the silent affection, the lingering touches as he pulled each piece of clothing over your skin. Even doing the simplest things together felt incredibly intimate.

As your arms slipped through your jacket sleeves, Finnick moved in front of you, zipping it up the front and moving on to clipping the overlay buttons. He had this look of pure concentration; anyone would think he was solving the world's hardest puzzle, not buttoning up a jacket. It was adorable.

“Finnick?”

His concentration didn’t waver. “Mm?”

There was a knot growing in your stomach, and it wasn’t the pleasant kind. You had felt it moments before when you were still up against the pillar, and as time ticked away and a new day was closely approaching, it only grew more potent. Every time you looked into Finnick’s eyes, it felt more imminent. Like an impending doom.

The only plausible explanation behind the feeling was one you couldn’t speak aloud. You couldn’t even ponder it for a second, fearing the weight of it would crush the fragile makings of your heart and soul.

You scanned his face, taking in every single feature you had grown to worship. “If I go back home at dawn—” Now his attention had flickered to you “—will you come with me?”

His hands stilled, momentarily confused by your words. This mission was his chance to finally gain back some sense of power that had been taken from him by Snow. Within the next few days, he would be watching Katniss shoot an arrow through the president’s heart and see the life leave his eyes. A few days prior, that would have been more important than anything.

But as he looked into your eyes and saw the life twinkle in the gloss of your irises, the love they held, the future they revealed—a future with you and him together—he quickly realised nothing was more important. And the intense pleading your gaze revealed absolutely shattered him. Nothing could ever be more important than you.

Finnick tenderly cupped your face in his hands. “I’ll follow you anywhere, sweetheart. You know that.”

And it was like a massive weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Like a dark ominous cloud looming overhead had finally dissipated and left you with an immeasurable amount of relief. You didn’t know what had caused the feeling or why it had been strong in Finnick’s presence, only that it felt right to be going home and have him come with you.

He leaned forward and kissed you gently, adoringly, and it took everything in you not to melt into his embrace. Your hands held onto his wrists, feeling his pulse thump with life beneath your fingertips. You loved him. You loved him so much that ‘love’ wasn’t even the right word for it anymore.

What he had said earlier came to mind­—how your existence was enough proof of your love for him. That seemed right.

“I exist for you, Finn,” you whispered.

The stars above were twinkling in his sea-green eyes, almost like little specs of bioluminescent plankton. You would happily drown in them if it were possible.

Finnick pressed his forehead against yours, arms snaking around your torso to hold you tightly against him. “I exist for you, too.”

The two of you returned home the next morning. And as the years went by, you continued to exist for one another back in District Four, free from judgement, from tyranny, from the Games.

You simply revelled in existence.

[minihotdog]

Have You Seen My Boyfriend?

Summary: You see Simon in the mask for the first time

C/W: angst (?)

A/N: I've been wanting to write this fic for a while now and I didn't really know what to do with it BUT @celestialwhoree wrote this lovely fic right here and it lit a fire under my ass. I also don't think Simon would wear his mask outside of combat-active areas sooo I threw that out the window to make this work.

Word Count: 723

He didn’t even remember that he still had that damn balaclava on when they touched down on the runway. Months had gone by and eventually, as it always did, it began to feel like a second skin.

He never let you see him with it on either. Simon made sure to keep Ghost on the field and Simon at home. He’d watched countless men throughout his career take work home with them and the damage it left on everyone they touched. He wasn’t perfect. He had his own struggles in disconnecting from the adrenaline and danger, but he’d been meticulous so far.

Since you came into his life the balaclava stayed in his ready-to-go bag that you weren’t allowed to touch.

The bulk of the unit grabs their bags and heads towards the hangar as fast as they can, happy to be freed from the C-130 they’d been cramped into like sardines for hours. Their families wait for them, cheering as they get closer.

Simon knew you didn’t like crowds and messaged you to meet him at the compound instead, he’d instructed a private to let you inside the barrack’s common area to wait for him.

You were sitting on an ugly old brown couch fidgeting with your fingers. He’d been gone for months and your excitement to have him back home was mixing with the anxiety of being in this environment that didn’t feel right for you to be in. You wondered if he’d get in trouble for letting you be there.

At some point, you get on your feet and begin pacing away from the door in case they barge in to take you away for being in a restricted area unsupervised.

Simon detours to throw his bags in his office before heading towards the common area. His weapon and clips are long gone, turned into the armory waiting for his next embarkment. His vest is still snug on his frame, his skeleton-printed gloves still donned with months of sweat and grime soaked into the fabric, and his forgotten balaclava sticking to him absentmindedly.

You jump out of your skin in fear when the door swings open and spin around on your heels to meet your awaiting demise. Your nerves don’t subside when a giant man steps into the room. All the air suddenly gets sucked out.

He’s covered head to toe and the only thing your eyes can focus on is the skull print on his face. He closes the door behind him, his eyes not leaving yours.

You swallow harshly, trying to force words out. Or do anything to save yourself.

“Have you seen my boyfriend?” You squeak out. You watch the mask move over his features and you avoid his eyes at all costs. The overcast from the eyeholes makes them look like black holes.

“Y/n,” He breathes out while taking a step closer. You swear to yourself he almost sounds like your Simon but the alarm bells continue going off at the sight of him. You take a step back and in his exhausted state, it finally clicks. His eyes close and his eyebrows furrow in disbelief. He looks over you taking in your reluctance and the fear coursing through you.

Fuckin’ Hell

He reaches up slowly to not scare you. His fingers pull at the fabric at the top of his head slowly pulling the balaclava off to reveal his all-to-familiar face, his messy blond locs sticking out in every direction.

“Jesus, Simon!” You gasp, running to him and banging on his chest. “You scared the shit out of me! What the fuck!”

He wraps his arms around you, pinning you to his chest. You writhe in his arms trying to escape.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to.”

You look up into his sad chocolate brown eyes now freed from the darkness that hid them before. “I never wanted you to see that, doll. That isn’t me, I promise.” His voice comes out soft and full of regret.

He yanks his gloves off letting them fall to the ground so he can lace his fingers in your hair. He holds you against his chest, occasionally brushing his lips against your forehead.

Cats out of the bag.

He doesn’t know what to do now. What if this is the start of something he can’t prevent?

[strkie]

is it really you? logan/wolverine x male winter solider variant reader

logan has never really met a winter soldier before, and you’re not entirely what he expects. he’s not complaining, though.

notes. i love both these characters so obviously i had to mash them up - i actually like how this turned out ^_^

details. deadpool and wolverine spoilers, 1,500+ words, he/him pronouns, soft angst, depression mentioned, blood mentioned, winter soldier canon truama.

They meet you in the Void, naturally.

It's not easy to see nor tell what you are at first— you stay clear of them for a few miles after they escape Cassandra, but Logan can smell your dull and metallic scent on the winds and is aware enough of that to keep an eye out, but either Wade doesn't know or doesn't care and keeps distracting him. Logan only knows you're actually a living thing and not just a trick of his mind until he meets the survivors group of hero's that got pruned in Gambit's hideout, seeing you standing in the back shadows like some kind of menacing monster and instantly recognizing your smell. You wear your mask and combat gear, but the most noticeable thing to Logan is your entire left mechanical arm. The metal plates and gears shift together whenever you move, sparking wires when you push your arm a certain direction.

No one really acknowledges you except Laura and Wade, but he only gives you a big gasp and a quip of "the Winter Soldier too?!" before getting caught up in the task of convincing everyone to take down Cassandra. Even so, Logan can't help but stare at you sometimes, acutely aware of your presence and how dead silent you are. You don't talk, you hardly move, but Logan can tell you listen to everything with a vivid sense of attention.

When the hours pass into night, when Laura talks to Logan by that fire pit, he follows her back into the camp after a few long moments and into a separate room overlooking the forest that surrounds the back. It's easy to follow her but he's sure that's just because she knows he is, walking into the room to see you hunched over a table and digging into the machinery of your arm. You clink around with a screwdriver and welder, moving your metal fingers occasionally to see if you fixed anything. When you see Laura though, you pause, letting her grab the screwdriver from your available hand and helping you. You do not flinch when she pokes and prods, so Logan can only assume you don't feel anything or have the pain tolerance near Logan's own, but either way it's an interesting sight to see the two of you huddled together.

Logan shifts his weight on the doorway, rubbing his knuckles distractedly. Your mask is off, letting him see your face clearly, your eyes staring hard but not entirely unkind at him from your spot by the table. You're attractive, in a begrudgingly way to Logan. He's not used to being attracted to someone, no matter if it's a man or not, and it freaks him out a little— so he buries that feeling deep within himself to ignore.

When the fight comes the next day, when everyone is in the middle of their own world and killing, is when Logan actually sees how deadly you are. Your fast, strong, and take the fight on like you have nothing to loose or gain. When the fight ends though, when Cassandra is gone and everyone is crammed into Wades shitty apartment, Logan thinks about you with a heaviness he doesn't expect. You are there too, of course, but for some reason he doesn't know how to interact with you, especially since he hasn't heard you talk once all this time and how you have this brooding demeanor that rivals Logan's own.

But you interact with Laura with hand gestures and sometimes a whisper to the ear, but he never hears and never tries to actually listen since it's not him you are talking to. Still, you cling to Laura's side unless she's in the middle of a bigger group or conversation, and it's only when Logan gives Dogpool to Wade again is when he fishes you out.

You're by the boxed off kitchen, leaning against the wall near the fridge with a red solo cup that Laura obviously is making you drink, just holding it awkwardly in your hand. You have your combat gear still on but there's a red flannel on your shoulders over the rest to hide your arm, not that it really matters in this crowd, but you seem insecure about it. Logan pretends to be there for something else, obviously— getting another round of fruit punch before he acknowledges you.

"So what's up with you?" He tries not to actively be an ass, but it's hard considering you acutely remind him of himself. Your eyes turn to stare at him, and even without your facial mask covering the bottom half of your face you are still stoic and nonchalant. You don't answer him for long enough that Logan almsot shrugs and calls the whole attempt off— but then you answer in a quiet, albeit rough voice.

"I don't know how to socialize." You say it so pitifully that Logan stops all his movements to consider the situation. He nearly wants to groan in frustration because, even though he is trying, he really doesn't want to try sometimes. But you stand there sadly and still and Logan does internally groan this time.

"Well," He says going to stand next to you, though a comfortable distance away. "How do you know Laura?" You don't turn to the side to look directly at him, but he can feel your surprise radiating off of you at his attempt at socializing. Shifting from foot to foot, you answer slowly.

"I was pruned when I didn't kill Howard Stark, so I'm not- I wasn't in a good headspace. Laura found me before Cassandra did and helped me be... human again." You continue to look forward awkwardly, but you do seem more comfortable the more Logan listens to you.

Logan sits with your explanation for a moment, letting himself have the opportunity to think over his next words. It's not everyday someone like you comes into his life, and he doesn't even mean that you're attractive— he means how complex you are, especially with your long past and how you're trying to find yourself again. He can relate, honestly. When he met the X-Men— Charles— for the first time, Logan wasn't anywhere like he is before they died, or even who he is nowadays. He was a shell walking through life with no help, only looking to survive instead of live. So, yeah, he can understand, but actually seeing someone else be like that hurts in a very vulnerable manner.

"Do you have a place to stay?" He blurts out, surprising himself. You don't show much emotion besides what you reply.

"Laura said I could stay with her." You pause for a moment, pondering. "But I'm not sure what I'll do in this world, especially if their Winter Soldier is still... here." You talk slowly, trying to keep up the conversation yet also trying not to be depressing.

"I'm sure Wade wouldn't mind an extra roommate." Logan says, not caring if Wade actually cares or not because either way he's sure Wade can be persuaded by a couple good stabs.

You actually turn to look solely on Logan now, obviously shocked at the prospect, but you don't seem unwilling either. You let it sink in for a moment, and that's when Logan sees you smile for the first time.

It starts like that, although slowly. You eventually do talk to Laura and Wade about the apartment situation— Laura is obviously very pleased with this outcome if her expression is anything to go by, and Wade is actually quite happy too— but you do talk to Al about it too, who says you and Logan eventually do need to make an income if you can live here. You're not surprised nor upset by this— if you're gonna live in this new world you need employment unfortunately, but you also know the TVA set you up with your own documents to help with that.

You sleep on the couch that rolls into a bed and (some awkwardness on his part aside) Logan eventually bunks with you. You're not complaining at all— when you were in HYDRAs hands the situations were very vastly different and worse, so loading up with someone is not uncomfortable for you, especially when this person is not actively trying to kill you. But also because of this, you are used to curling up into tight spaces despite your bigger size and you don't understand why Logan finds that sad at first, so you stick to one side of the couch bed easily. When Logan realizes the reasoning for this, he slowly starts to move into your space each night. You're not complaining with this, either.

When you're not asleep, you've found yourself a bouncer job at the local nightclub down the street, just near enough that you can walk there. With the Super Soldier Serum still in your veins that grant you heightened senses and strength, it's a relatively easy job, though you get home at weird hours. This isn't really a problem since Logan hardly sleeps, Wade is Wade, and Al has a separate room. But if you're not sleeping before work, Laura has taken it upon herself to teach you how to bake and do laundry the "normal" way, which basically means not just stealing someone else's clothes or washing out primarily blood.

But it's... nice. It's domestic and healthy, two things you aren't accustomed to, and it gets even better since Logan always joins too. At first he didn't— he made it very apparent that he knew how to do these things and found no fun in it, especially baking— but then he joined anyway and hasn't left since. Maybe it's for you, maybe it's for Laura or maybe it's for other reasons you don't know, but you're happy he's around. He's never really involved with the process, but he always stays around to quip or talk about whatever Laura talks about, sometimes just asking you about your job.

Since you technically have no name in his dimension, it's easy to blend into life and start new, but honestly Logan is the one that makes you realize that. He's not nice, he's mean and tough, but then he asks about your day or makes sure you're comfortable when there's a crowd or finishes your dinner plate secretly just so Wade doesn't get offended that you didn't have a lot of his food. You don't understand immediately that you love him, and he can say the same. You just do, and he just does, and it's perfect, even when it's not perfect.

Overtime, you gradually heal your inner wounds and Logan does too, if not slowly, but it happens nonetheless. You kiss him one night coming home from work after waking him up by bouncing on the couch bed, making him grumpy then happy when you suddenly kiss his face. It's obviously unexpected, but it's too easy to continue kissing and loving on him, especially when he reciprocates, and that's how you fall asleep: tucked under him as he sleeps nearly on top of you, nose in your neck and smiling. You both sleep in til one in the afternoon, only waking up from the Dogpool climbing over you both.

[mockerycrow]

Love your works! May I please get a "don't worry, i'm not going anywhere." with Ghost? Take your time, I love what you write!

400 Follower Celebration

—“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”— With Ghost

Summary: You’re apart of the 141 and Ghost recently had a near-death experience. You’ve been plagued with nightmares about the situation, but you try to hide it from him, feeling selfish about your night terrors. One night, you’re thoroughly convinced Ghost had actually died.

A/N: THANK YOUUU I KEEP BLUSHING ILY AND TYSM FOR 500 FOLLOWERS

[WARNINGS: vomit, detailed nightmares, panic attack, gore, fake-death, angst, hurt/comfort.]

It was always the same nightmare. It was a repeat of that one mission months ago—nearly a year ago by now, where you and your team went to grab some important intel about a new uprising cartel that was showing some dangerous potential. It was a large compound, four floors including the basement, wide rooms with many blind-spots. Using your rifle equipped with a heat signature sensor, you swept room to room, leading your team through the building, putting anyone down who dared fired a bullet at you or your team.

You turn that familiar corner and your heart sinks. You’ve tried many times to change the course of this dream, but no matter how frantically you try to scream about what is waiting on the other side of that door, your mouth refuses to work until Ghost rumbles out, “I’ll take point.” You try to fight every muscle in your body to stop this, but it’s like the dream freezes until you continue down the.. “right path”. Quite literally is a living fucking hell for you, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it except do what it wants you to do.

“Roger.” You mutter, backing up behind Ghost instead of staying in front of him and leading him the others. The others are always blank faced soldiers in this nightmare, but you know who is who. You pat his shoulder, aimming over him as you walk down the hall close together, hugging the wall. You’ve been through this so many times, you know to eye the floor and you watch the moment happen—Ghost steps on a pressure plate and—BOOM.

You’re always forced to watch it in slow motion; the wall being blown open right next to Ghost, watching the debris scatter everywhere, scraping yourself up as well as Ghost. He raises his arm to shield his face from whatever is happening, unable to process in time that a man wielding a sharp combat knife is pulling his arm back and comes down with it.

You watch the way the knife so easily slides into his rib cage, and it’s almost like you could hear it penetrating his lung like it did—but this time, the man rips the knife out and does it again and again and again—this has never happened before—Ghost’s falling to the ground, his blood splattering everywhere, fuck, it’s like the guy is trying to gut him—but you can’t move. You have to sit there and watch this man. plunge a knife in and out of Ghost’s chest until he finally decides to stab him deep and yank downwards, spilling his intestines and stomach—yet, his lifeless eyes keep eye contact the entire time.

Your eyes fly open, dizzy from your heart pounding and unable to focus, you throw the blanket off of you and you make your way out of whatever room you’re in—you’re too freaked out to know. Your chest aches and feels like there’s a hundred tons sitting on your rib cage, restricting your breathing. You keep walking until you bump into something and you manage to focus enough to notice it’s the bathroom door. Your hand shakily grabs the doorknob and opens it, and you already feel the vomit traveling up your throat.

You end up bent over the open toilet, body heaving with every exile of the contents of your stomach, which by this time of night is mostly just bile. Your head is spinning and your hands keep shaking and by this point, you really don’t care how clean this bathroom is. You lean your elbows on the toilet rim and hold your head in your hands, trying your best to stifle a sob, even though all you can smell and feel is his blood on your fingertips. Your tears drip down your cheeks and collect at your chin before dripping off.

You keep one arm on the toilet seat to keep your head propped up and the other goes around your stomach, which is twisting painfully inside of your gut, ripping another sob from you. You gag into the toilet, but you’ve already thrown everything you had inside. Your throat and nose burns from the stomach acid, but it doesn’t compare to the emotional pain of losing Ghost. You just stood there and watched him get gutted—why do you deserve to grieve when you could have prevented it in the first place? Someone killed the Ghost, and you let it fucking happen.

A large hand sprawls across the flat of your back which is accompanied by a low, gritty voice. Whoever it is says something, but you don’t quite hear them. It’s probably Price, trying to comfort you, trying to say there’s one thing you could’ve done to stop it, but you know there was something you could do, anything you could’ve done.

Price calls your name and you go to shove him away, but his hands wrap around your wrists, and the voice is more insistent. You choke on a sob and shake your head, struggling against him until you hear it—his voice. “Fuck, [Name], can you hear me?” Ghost’s voice. It’s his voice.

No. Your mind is playing tricks on you and you won’t fall for it, you won’t let yourself go through this horrendous grief for a second time. You try to curl up into a ball, wanting to grab at your hair or your clothes, just anything but be here. “Look at me.” His hands grab your face and force your face to look at him and..

It’s him. It’s Ghost.

All of your noises stop for a moment as you stare with wide eyes that are full of unfallen tears, eyes full of grief, all for him. Ghost stares back at you with uncharacteristically wide eyes, and you can see the way his hands are slightly trembling—he’s worried about you. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow when he sees your expression of anguish. “Hey—hey, what happened?” Ghost’s voice is so quiet, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he speaks any louder. Your hands come up to his mask and touch it and you burst into a harsh sob again, throwing your arms around him.

Usually, Ghost would hesitate. He would be reluctant to reciprocate such personal touch, such desperation, but he pulls you close into his arms without a second thought. Your hands grab his shirt and you breakdown into his chest, wetting the fabric with your tears. His heart slipped a beat because he’s never seen you like this—has never seen you break down this horribly.

He’d be here when you were ready to talk about it, but for now he’ll stay to hold you until your shoulders stop shaking. Ghost moves to sit on his bottom and you whimper in fear, like he’ll leave. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Cold-hearted Wolf

Tags: Angst, fluff, arranged marriage, eventual smut, cregan is repressed and mean at first, then falls for the reader.

Master list

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Martell princess reader

All fiction, the reader is a made-up character. Im a long-time reader, but first-time writer.

Chapter 1 - Every decision Cregan Stark made was with a heavy sense of duty to his people. And this union, this upcoming wedding with the Martell girl, was no different. In his mind, you were just a pretty decoration, spoiled by the sun and riches of Dorne.

The skies over Winterfell were gray. The Martells of Dorne had arrived, bringing with them a warmth that was foreign to the North.

Cregan Stark was a formidable figure, trained to rule and fight from a young age. Past generations of Starks ran in his veins. Every decision he made was with a heavy sense of duty to his people. And this union, this upcoming wedding with the Martell girl, was no different. He saw it as a political move. In his mind, you were just a pretty decoration, spoiled by the sun and riches of Dorne.

You, on the other hand, were a bright-eyed girl. Though you have been trained in combat since a young age, as per Dornish custom, you had always been drawn to beauty – not war. The tales of the dashing Northern warrior had you intrigued. Since your announced engagement, you had imagined him with the ice of the North in his eyes and a heroic presence. And as the two of you finally met, you weren't disappointed. He was every bit the man of your dreams.

"You're as handsome as they say, my Lord," you offered with a smile and a bow, your voice tinged with genuine admiration.

Cregan simply nodded, taking you in. You were dressed in a gown the color of a sunset, your bare shoulders and collarbone a bit too revealing by Northern standards, and he could see the goosebumps lining your skin.

You began to second guess your wardrobe as you felt yourself shiver. Your maids tried to warn you of the exposed dress, however, you had told them that it would all be worth it once he sees your beauty.

You overheard a snicker come from the crowd. One of Cregan’s men, unable to resist, whispered loudly, "Looks like the sun forgot a few places."

You blushed as Cregan turned to give the man a deadly look, and the man's smirk instantly dropped.

Cregan’s icy grey eyes fixed on you again. "It's quite cold in the North, princess.”

You chuckled nervously. ”Yes, my lord. I seem to have forgotten.”

Instead of reciprocating your attempt at a joke, he took off the wolf hide around his shoulder and wrapped it around you. You accepted the warmth with gratitude.

“Perhaps in time, you'll learn to dress as befits the wife of a Stark." Was all he offered.

The words landed as a sharp jab. Your smile dropped as you looked down at yourself. You had tried, tried so hard to look beautiful for him, to make a good impression. Instead, you felt the weight of his disappointment.

The ceremony that followed was quite somber. Cregan was stoic. He did his duty, saying the words, making the vows, as did you. But there was a distance between the two of you. As the festivities went on, and the music played, he had not called upon you once to accompany him to the floor.

As you sat, your excitement slowly faded. You felt out of place. And as the night went on, you couldn't help but wonder if this marriage of convenience would ever know genuine affection.

----------------------------------------------------------

On the morning after his wedding, Cregan woke up to an unusual sound – he could have sworn he heard footsteps echoing outside his window. The chill air from the cracked open window mixed in with the fire in the hearth as he rose from his bed of furs. He looked to his side and stirred when he didn't see his bride's sleeping form beside him.

His loyal dog stirred beside the bed. "Easy, Grey," Cregan whispered, his hand soothingly running through the thick fur of his pet, who settled back down.

A glance out the window revealed a figure descending the roofs of Winterfell. As Cregan squinted against the early morning sun, he saw a figure in tight riding leathers, hair escaping from the hood in a braid. The figure turned to assess the distance to the ground, and beneath the hood, he recognized your distinct features. Unaware of his gaze, you scaled down the tower.

Panic briefly gripped Cregan at the thought of you falling. However, as you maneuvered with ease, his concern turned to curiosity. "Where are you going, princess?" He asked no one in particular.

Quickly dressing and concealing his identity with a hood, Cregan descended the stairs of the castle, avoiding working servents to sneak into the barn.

In the quiet darkness of the barn, Cregan spoke softly to his horse, Storm, as he saddled him. He clicked his tongue, guiding the horse as he followed you out of the castle.

Amidst the early morning silence of Winterfell, Cregan spotted you again, tossing a rope around one of the gate's stone columns. With a graceful swing, you scaled the wall before landing nimbly outside the castle grounds.

Cregan urged his horse onward, determined to follow your path.

----------------------------------------------------------

Having successfully snuck out of the castle (your gymnastics instructor was right in saying you would someday need the skill), you now stood behind a railing, quietly overlooking the jeweller at work in his shop.

Yesterday, the same jeweler had gifted you a stunning silver bracelet, crafted to resemble a viper wrapped around your hand. It occupied your thoughts pretty much the whole night, lighting the desire for a matching one for your other hand. Your early morning escapade confirmed the jeweler's location, and here he was—the handsome man, strands of grey hair falling on his forehead as he worked.

"What are you doing?" A voice whispered behind you.

You gasped, jumping to face Cregan, who leaned against the window with an air of anger, clad in riding leathers, his hood hiding part of his face. His eyes roamed over you in suspicion.

You blinked in surprise to meet his gaze. "My lord," you said, questioning. "Did you follow me?"

Raising a single brow, Cregan responded, "Merely concerned over my wife's reputation, what with the sneaking out of castle grounds, out of our marriage bed, no less, in the break of dawn."

Noting the harshness in his words, you retorted. "I don't see why there has to be an issue, given that everyone in Winterfell knows I belong to you anyway."

Something stirred within him at your words, and he took a couple of steps forward, backing you against the railing.

"That's right," he murmured, his voice low so as to not get you two caught. "It will be good you remembered it as well. Do you often sneak away into strange men’s homes?"

You, over your haze since last night, were unimpressed, maintaining your composure, responded, "Should I be alarmed by your sudden interest in me?"

Cregan, feeling oddly aggressive, leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "Alarmed or not, wife, I am the one who will leave a lasting mark on you."

Your heart sped up, and you felt an odd warmth in the pit of your stomach where his hand lay. You were a princess, after all. No one had ever spoken to you in such a commanding tone before.

You let him pull you through the window, and the two of you took his horse to find your way back to the castle. Neither spoke during the ride.

[librababe99]

Moments Between Time: Part One

CW: angst, hurt, dystopian, Mutant!Reader, mental anguish, existential despair, suggestive emotional and physical intimacy

Word Count: 2436

A/N: Hey loves! So I' m back with the first part of this new series featuring DOFP! Logan---Definitely one of my favorite x-men films that I went to see in theaters a few years back. I really hope y'all enjoy it--As always comments and feedback are highly appreciated! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

(Part Two)

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

The world had become a graveyard of memories, littered with the remnants of a civilization that once thrived. The skies, once a brilliant blue, were now a perpetually overcast gray, the sun a distant and pale shadow of its former self. Buildings stood as crumbling sentinels, their facades scorched and broken by years of unrelenting warfare. The air was thick with ash and the scent of burning, a constant reminder of the lives that had been lost and the battles yet to be fought.

The war had waged for years, perhaps decades—time had lost its meaning in the endless cycle of violence and survival. The Sentinels, monstrous machines designed to hunt and exterminate mutants, had decimated the population. Humanity, too, had been nearly eradicated in the crossfire, caught between the relentless advance of the Sentinels and the desperate resistance of the mutants. Those who remained were either in hiding or dead. The world was a barren wasteland, devoid of hope and teetering on the edge of oblivion.

You stood on the precipice of what was once a thriving city, now reduced to ruins. The wind howled through the skeletal remains of skyscrapers, carrying with it the echoes of a world that no longer existed. Your heart was heavy with the weight of all you had seen, all you had lost. But you were still standing, still fighting. You had no other choice.

Your powers had been both a blessing and a curse in this war. The ability to manipulate time was a formidable weapon, allowing you to slow it, speed it up, or even rewind it in brief bursts. But every use took a toll, draining your energy, leaving you weaker with each passing day. It was a power that came with a price—a price you had paid over and over again, watching friends and allies fall only to rewind their deaths, knowing that it would only delay the inevitable.

And yet, despite everything, you had survived. You were one of the last remaining members of the X-Men, a shadow of the team that had once stood as a beacon of hope in a world that feared and hated them. But hope was a luxury none of you could afford anymore. Survival was all that mattered, and even that seemed like a losing battle.

Beside you, Logan Howlett—Wolverine—surveyed the desolate landscape with a grim expression. His once fierce eyes were hardened by the years of combat, yet there was a depth of sorrow in them that matched your own. His presence was a constant, a rock in the storm that raged around you both. You had fought together through countless battles, each one more desperate than the last, and had watched the world crumble piece by piece.

Logan’s wounds healed quickly, his regenerative abilities keeping him alive when others would have perished. But even he was not immune to the emotional toll of this endless war. The loss of friends, of family, of a future worth fighting for—it all weighed heavily on him, carving deep lines into his face, turning his hair to gray.

For years, you and Logan had been comrades in arms, partners on the battlefield. But there was more between you than just the bond forged in blood and fire. There was something unspoken, a connection that ran deeper than either of you dared to acknowledge. It was a thread that had woven itself through the fabric of your shared experiences, pulling you closer even as the world around you fell apart.

The quiet moments between skirmishes had become precious, stolen time where the chaos of the world seemed to fade, if only for a brief while. It was in those moments that you would catch Logan’s gaze, his eyes searching yours as if seeking solace in the only place it could be found. There were times when your hands would brush, a fleeting touch that sent a spark through your entire being, a reminder that you were still alive, still capable of feeling something other than pain and despair.

But there was no room for love in a world like this. No room for the vulnerability that came with it. To love was to risk losing everything, and neither of you could afford that. So, you kept your feelings buried deep, hidden beneath layers of resolve and determination. There were more pressing matters at hand—survival, resistance, the slim chance of victory.

As the days passed and the future grew increasingly bleak, a plan began to take shape among the remaining X-Men. It was a desperate, last-ditch effort to change the course of history, to prevent the events that had led to this catastrophic timeline. The idea was to send someone back in time, to a point before the Sentinels were created, before the war had begun. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance you had left.

The choice of who to send was obvious. Logan was the only one who could survive the journey. His healing factor would protect him from the physical strain, and his mind was strong enough to endure the temporal displacement. But even with his abilities, the mission was fraught with danger. If it failed, if something went wrong, there would be no coming back.

Your role in the plan was just as crucial. Your powers would be used to anchor Logan’s consciousness in the past, to guide him and keep him connected to the present. It was a task that required immense concentration and would drain you of almost all your energy. You knew the risks, knew that there was a very real possibility that you wouldn’t survive the attempt. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was giving Logan a chance to succeed, to change the future, to save the world.

The night before the mission, you found yourself unable to sleep. The weight of what was to come pressed down on you, a heavy burden that you carried alone. You had always been strong, resilient, but the thought of what lay ahead filled you with a sense of dread that you couldn’t shake.

You sat alone in the darkness, the cold air seeping into your bones, your thoughts a tangled mess of fear and determination. The reality of the situation was sinking in—this could be the last night you ever spent in this world. The last night you would see Logan, hear his voice, feel his presence beside you.

The sound of footsteps drew you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see Logan approaching. His face was set in a somber expression, the lines of worry etched deep into his features. He said nothing as he sat down beside you, the silence between you heavy with the weight of all that was left unsaid.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. There was nothing that needed to be said, no words that could capture the magnitude of what was about to happen. But the silence wasn’t empty—it was filled with the unspoken emotions that had been building between you for years. The tension that had simmered beneath the surface, always there but never acknowledged, was now impossible to ignore.

Finally, it was Logan who broke the silence. His voice was rough, low, like gravel underfoot. “Tomorrow’s gonna be hell,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the first light of dawn was just beginning to break.

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “Yeah. It is.”

He turned to look at you then, his gaze intense, searching. “You ready for this?”

You met his eyes, seeing the concern there, the fear that he was trying so hard to hide. You managed a small, sad smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Logan’s hand reached out, hesitating for just a moment before he rested it on yours. The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the cold that surrounded you, a lifeline in the darkness. You looked down at your joined hands, your heart pounding in your chest.

“This could be it,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If things go wrong… I just… I don’t want you to—”

You shook your head, cutting him off before he could finish. “Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Don’t say it. We can’t afford to think like that.”

But even as you said the words, you knew it was too late. The reality of the situation hung between you like a shadow, impossible to ignore. Logan squeezed your hand, the pressure grounding you, pulling you back from the edge of despair.

“You’re strong,” he said, his voice steady, reassuring. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. You’ll get through this. You have to.”

The intensity of his gaze, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered, took your breath away. For a moment, you felt like the world had stopped, that there was nothing but the two of you in that cold, desolate night.

Without thinking, you reached up and cupped his face in your hand, your thumb brushing lightly over the rough stubble on his cheek. “And you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You have to come back. You have to make it right.”

Logan’s eyes softened, the hardness in them giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he vowed, his voice fierce, filled with a determination that sent a shiver down your spine. “I swear, I’ll make it right.”

The moment hung between you, heavy and charged, the tension that had been building for years finally coming to a head. It was as if all the barriers you had both put up, all the walls you had built around your hearts, were crumbling in the face of what was to come.

Before you could second-guess yourself, before the fear could take hold, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was fierce, desperate, a collision of pent-up emotions that neither of you could contain any longer. Logan responded immediately, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as if he could merge your bodies, your souls, into one.

There was no room for hesitation, no time for doubt. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more intense, as if you were both trying to pour everything you felt into this one moment. It was a kiss born of desperation, of the fear that this might be your last chance to feel something real, something good, before the darkness swallowed you whole.

Logan’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you into his lap as he kissed you with a fervor that left you breathless. You could feel the raw power in him, the barely-contained rage and pain that he carried with him every day, and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to take it all away, to make him feel something other than the constant ache of loss and regret.

The world around you seemed to fade into nothingness, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other, clinging to this one moment of passion and vulnerability. It was as if time itself had stopped, holding you in a suspended reality where nothing else mattered.

But time, as always, was cruel. The kiss slowed, the intensity gradually ebbing away, leaving behind a bittersweet longing that settled deep in your chest. You pulled back slightly, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling in the cold air.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

He opened his eyes, and the raw emotion you saw there nearly brought you to your knees. There was so much in his gaze—love, fear, desperation, hope. It was almost too much to bear.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” you said, your voice barely audible, “I need you to know… I—”

But before you could finish, Logan captured your lips again, silencing you with a kiss that was somehow even more tender, more meaningful than the last. It was a kiss that spoke of promises unmade, of words left unsaid, of a future that might never come.

When he finally pulled back, his hand still cradling your face, his expression was one of fierce determination. “You don’t have to say it,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “I know. I’ve always known.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, nodding as you leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand on your skin. The dawn was fast approaching, the light slowly creeping over the horizon, casting long shadows over the ruined city.

The reality of what was to come settled over you both like a dark cloud, but in this moment, with Logan’s arms around you, you felt a sense of peace that had eluded you for so long. You knew that this could be the last time you ever saw him, the last time you felt his touch, his kiss. But you also knew that if anyone could change the future, it was Logan.

As the first rays of sunlight pierced the gloom, you pulled back, reluctantly breaking the embrace. Logan’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the same mixture of hope and fear reflected in them.

“It’s time,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart.

Logan nodded, his expression hardening as he prepared himself for what lay ahead. But before he could step away, you reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Promise me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

Logan’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the hardness in his expression melted away, replaced by something tender, something achingly vulnerable. He squeezed your hand in return, his grip strong and reassuring.

“I promise,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ll come back. I’ll find you.”

With one last lingering look, Logan turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows as he prepared to embark on the most dangerous mission of his life.

And as you watched him go, your heart heavy with a mixture of fear and hope, you whispered a silent prayer to whatever gods might still be listening, begging them to bring him back to you.

Because in this world of darkness and despair, Logan was your only light, your only hope.

And you weren’t ready to let that go.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

Taglist: @hughverine @itzyahgirllkita1 @nonamevenus

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[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Reign down on me - Part 4

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt

-🐺-

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, mutt?”

Your breaths were coming in hard pants, your body was worn to shreds. It took everything in you to look up at the angry face above, and when you finally mustered enough strength to tilt your head, you were met with deeply disapproving eyes. For once they didn’t rattle you, you’d already seen something so much worse. 

“She’s dead,” you murmured, looking back down at the empty eyed body across from you. 

“And you’re about to be too if you don’t get yourself together, stupid dog!”

You’d been yanked up and forced to keep running, shoved out in front of corners and into oncoming fire. It was a miracle you hadn’t joined your old teammate on the floor - not that you really saw it that way. You drew the enemy’s fire and allowed your current handler to get to exfil unharmed, you in your sorry hollow state had been shot in the chest, or the vest rather. Either way you were terribly struggling to breathe when you were eventually lugged along into the helicopter. 

It was difficult to remember much in the days after that. Your memory was a blurry haze, tugged along and shoved into transport and various different rooms until you were abandoned in an infirmary to heal. 

The main thing you remember is how the tiger girl you’d been fighting alongside had fallen, and no one else had batted an eye. She had been one of the best hybrids you’d worked with, someone the soldiers had clamoured to get onto your team, and none of them gave a shit when she’d died. The same girl that had so earnestly been teaching you and given you valuable advice for the field was no more than a few hazily remembered lessons and an empty vessel. 

The thought burned in your mind when you’d laid on the hospital bed, keeping your eyes narrowed to tiny slits and your tail twitching as you recovered. You’d been too young to actually be assigned to a combat mission, but you’d been sent along with the unit that day because they thought they were doing a routine water run to a nearby village and they’d wanted you to observe.

Now you were marred with your first battle scar and laden with the knowledge that it didn’t matter how good you did - you’d be nothing more than a pile of bones left behind to rot. 

-

“Move along, mutt!”

Maddox loomed over you and smacked you with his club, sending you sprawling as you refused to run his training drill. You’d since recovered and been cleared for work once more, but that was just what the doctors said. You had a different opinion entirely. 

“I’m not doing this,” you said quietly, hefting yourself back up to a standing position. 

“What?” Maddox’s voice came through in a chilling growl.

The sounds of the rest of the hybrid’s running the training exercise he’d set echoed all around you. You watched them scrambling around, flying through the course like clay pigeons, and blinked slowly. They were all just training to be better canon fodder. What was the point? You were all going to meet the same end, whether you died honourably fighting or were shot down into a pink mist from where you stood, no matter how good any of you were it wouldn’t matter. You’d all just die anyway. 

“You heard me,” you growled, puppy voice still too young to actually have much of an impact. 

Maddox wasn’t used to being defied. From day one you’d all tried to do what you could to appease him, had run around trying to make sure you weren’t drawing his ire. None of you liked his horrible booming voice when he scrambled at you, you were all afraid of his club and being at the receiving end of one of his thrashings. What was the point? 

He looked incensed, he was the most angry you’d ever seen him. He smacked you a few more times, landing heavy blows onto your back, thighs and butt, but you weren’t anymore motivated to get going. Instead you lay uselessly on the ground and cried out, ears drawing back as you prepared for his worst. 

“Get the fuck up! Do as you’re told, dog, no exceptions. Now move!”

You whined, but stayed where you were. Even while your back was on fire, even while he still beat dents into you, you didn’t feel anymore convinced to go along with any of it anymore. You just wanted to give up. To stop having to live through the pain, and just accept that it would be all there was. 

In the back of your mind you registered that everyone had stopped running, could feel the ground stop rumbling with their desperate footsteps and had all stopped to watch the spectacle. Though you didn’t really think much about it. 

It took a few more blows, but eventually Maddox seemed to recognise that you were quite happy for him to mash you into a fine pulp. His lesson wasn’t having any effect. So he left you on the ground and walked away a few paces, his shadow falling over your face and draping you with the weight of it. 

You choked out a sob and watched as he addressed the room. His words weren’t immediately intelligible to you, you were too lost in your brain fog still. Everything was dull, and noises were like far away recordings playing on scratchy speakers. Your head was a swelling water balloon fit to burst. 

“-see what happens when you decide you’re not going to do what your commanding officer tells you.”

Thwack.

You heard the sound, but you didn’t feel anything. You tilted your head, ears twitching confusedly as you tried to work out why the pain didn’t reach you. The sound of the wailing banshee scream following soon after clued you into why your bones weren’t rattling with anymore pain. 

“Please, sir! Please!”

It was like a plastic sheet had been melted from your eyes. The white hot screech of the voice burned through you and you scrambled up with a shock, watching on with horror as one of your fellow hybrids was getting whacked like nothing else. A wheezing breath gushed in through your lungs and you screamed in unison with the poor boy, begging Maddox to please stop. 

“Oh now you’re willing to plead for forgiveness? Now you’re ready to participate again? Watch and let this be a lesson - You don’t decide when you’re done! You do as you’re fucking told!”

“No! Please, no! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Sir. Please, please ple-”

-🐺-

“Hey, Pup, hey, shhh. Wake up, Pup.”

You felt raw, throat vibrating with the last of your unconscious screams, your mind raced as you struggled to register your surroundings. Soft lamplight bathed the room in a warm, hazy glow, and all around you were rumpled blankets, all thrown around the place in splatters of blue as if a tower of paint cans had exploded. Most startling of all though, was the behemoth of a man right in front of you; sitting on your bed and looking down at you with a worried expression. 

You backed away to the wall when you finally noticed him, panting and growling like hell when you searched through your bleary mind and couldn’t recognise him. His eyes were like molten gems, his long face and pouting lips drawn into a picture of concern. There was something almost familiar about him, if you squinted and ignored the shock of blonde hair that gently curled on top of his head (something told you that you weren’t used to seeing that). The only thing that stopped you from jumping him immediately was the calming scent of citrus peels. 

“Who the fuck are you?” you growled, curling your hands into fists. “What do you want with me?”

The man blinked slowly, his eyebrows raising from the gentle frown he’d been wearing and twitching up into surprise. He smiled uneasily then, the look seeming foreign on that big scarred up face, one of the scars at his lips puckered with the effort it took to move over the muscle. 

“Shit, sorry. It’s me, it’s Ghost,” the man sighed, his accent washing over you like a warm wave. “Forgot my mask.”

You gasped, feeling all your muscles release their tension at once as you slid down the wall and into a weary slump. It was ok. He wasn’t some horrible soldier come to drag you away to a new mission, or an enemy looking to startle you before they bagged a kill. It was just Ghost, and Ghost was safe. And Ghost looked… well you were too tired to really get a solid grip on what you thought of how Ghost looked.  

“What are you doing in here?” you asked, only speaking when you were confident you wouldn’t stutter. 

“You were screamin’, Pup. You looked like you were fighting off possession or somethin’, that must’ve been some bad dream you were having,” Ghost said softly, gently running a hand over the top of your dewy head. 

You gritted your teeth and used the butt of your palms to wipe the stray tears from your cheeks, still feeling your throat burn from all the shrieking. It had been a long time since you’d had one of those dreams, or rather memories, but you knew well enough you’d have been loud. You realised you’d probably woken him if he was coming to you bare faced. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, tail tucking between your legs in realisation.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured, bringing his hand down to stroke over your cheek. “I’ve woken up with plenty of those myself.”

“But you…you’ve shown your face to me when you didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” you sighed, looking away guiltily. 

Your toes curled and your body froze up, your instincts gone haywire as you tried to process what was happening. Was he going to punish you now? Would he beat you until you forgot what he looked like? You shuddered at the thought of your dreams piercing through into reality. 

“No, don’t be sorry, darlin’. I’d have taken it off for you sooner or later anyway,” he shrugged. 

You bit your lip, unconvinced that this was the case. Given that his team didn’t think much of the mask, it was clear that he wore it often. He probably didn’t like to be bare faced around other people. Maybe he wanted to keep his face a secret. 

“Didn’t think it’d effect you this much,” he chuckled, chucking you under your chin. “I did warn you.”

“You warned me?”

“Mhmm. Told you I was bloody handsome.”

Nothing could help the snort that burst from your nose. That then descended into full blown laughter, your body lightening from the growing load that your mind posed. You wrapped your hands round your knees, in an attempt to contain the giggles, and only stopped when you saw the gentle smile that sprouted back onto Ghost’s lips. 

“There you go. Better now, huh?”

You nodded slowly and smiled back at him. For some reason mirroring him felt like the easiest thing in the world. It was like a warm glow had burst from him to you, softening your sharp thoughts and turning your body to jelly. You’d be able to sleep again as if nothing had woken you, usually you would stay up until light broke through your curtains. 

“You wanna talk about anything before I get back to my beauty rest?”

“No, I’m good,” you said hurriedly, not wanting to relive everything you’d dreamed again. 

“Alright then…You get back to sleep, you’ve got another big day ahead. Try not to scare the piss out of me again for another few hours at least,” He sighed. 

You nodded, scooting back over so that you could lie back at the head of your bed. However before you could angle yourself down, Ghost drew you into a side hug. At first you resisted it, curled your hands around his arm so that you could stop whatever harm might come your way, but when there was none. Your eyes grew heavier as he held you, his body heat seeped down into your bones and it tempted you ever deeper into the restful darkness.

You let your hands drop and nuzzled into him. There wasn’t anything to fear. 

“S’my good, Pup,” Ghost mumbled, releasing you seconds later. 

You sank into bed afterwards, falling into a deep sleep as if a switch had been flicked. There were no more disturbances after that. 

-🐺-

“Not so hard, Steamin’ Jesus!”

Soap’s whizzed right past your ears like a bullet, you were too focused on getting to the target point. Paintballs splattered overhead, loud noises rang out from the speakers that’d been set up, and your heart was racing. Everything perfectly combined to drive you wild and send all coherent thought elsewhere. The only reason you stayed put behind your current cover was because you knew Ghost was watching - because of some foreign underlying need to make him proud. 

“Johnny, you have to take control.”

“I’m fuckin’ tryin’! Your bloody sled dog has other ideas,” Soap huffed, growling down the line. 

Ghost’s chuckle rattled around the comms like a swarm of bats. The ever present hand on the front of your neck dug into your collarbone a little, but still you persisted and pushed forward through the resistance. Soap had no idea what he was doing, had no idea how to control your advancement through the fake field. 

“Sled dog tendencies aside, you’re not holding em’ right,” Ghost chastised. “Stop the exercise!”

The splat of the last paintball echoed dully around the room and all at once your more human senses returned. The sharp fuzz in your ears dissipated and the blurring at the edge of your peripheries came staggeringly back into focus. You almost sent Soap crashing when you stopped fighting his hold, though luckily for him he swivelled just in time to keep his feet on solid ground. 

“Fuckin’ here we go,” Soap muttered, releasing your collar. 

You frowned up at him in question, but you didn’t get an opportunity to wonder what he was so pissed about. Ghost jumped into the little arena he’d created and crossed the floor, patting your vest before he took a hold of you himself.

“You’re holdin’ Pup round the front like this,” Ghost said, sliding his hand around your collar to illustrate his point. “You’re just choking them and driving them forward to get away from ya’ or get to the checkpoint.”

“Because your precious little Angel keep’s growlin’ and turnin round when I hold the collar round the back like you do. I feel like I’m about to get my face rearranged again!”

Ghost sighed and put his hand on Soap’s arm, driving the other man to give a cursory glance down at you before fixing a hard look on the Lieutenant. There was no mistaking the sharp little shake of his head he gave, no matter how much he had tried to hide it. Ghost put his hand down, holding it up in mock surrender before it fell completely. 

“It’s because you’re holding on too tight, Johnny,” Ghost explained, his voice growing softer. “You don’t have to. Pup won’t hurt you.” 

“You sure about that?”

“Johnny,” Ghost growled. “Don’t say anything stupid, now.”

You looked up, alarmed at the tone Ghost was taking. You didn’t really blame Soap, or anyone else, for being afraid of you. A lot of people were - anyone who knew your reputation at least, and from that little comment you surmised that Soap was well aware of it. Though from the way Ghost was acting, it was as if Soap had told him he was going to shoot you. His eyes were stuck in a stormy glare and his full height was rigidly stretching up over the Sergeant. 

“You know this is difficult for me,” Soap said, jaw as taught as a piano wire. 

“I know…” Ghost sighed. “But it’ll only be harder if you keep going like this, learning to control a wolf the wrong way will only get you both hurt. You’ve gotta dig deep here, push past the bad memories. This one’ll never hurt you like that.”

“So you keep saying,” Soap grumbled. “Why don’t you try tellin’ them to fuckin’ behave when they’re being handled rather’n having a go at me.”

A creeping feeling of shame crept through your mind, suddenly you felt like a very small child in the middle of a fight between your parents. The tiny little voice you hadn’t heard in so long chimed just as true as it did then, They’re fighting about me again. Your ears folded back straight against your head and you leaned closer into Ghost, accidentally catching eyes with Soap as he registered your movement. 

Soap’s eyes softened. 

“It’s not that simple. I have a plan in the works though,” Ghost said carefully, shifting his gaze to you as he felt you press against him, and then back at Soap. “It’s gonna take a bit to undo years of shit training, yeah? I told you how it’d be before, those shitheads at Branhaven always train up hybrids to look as showy as possible for their superiors. That means they pull like crazy and bark and growl up a riot while they work because it looks effective and scary to the knobheads who don’t need to handle them. I need you all to learn how to handle Pup as they are now before I’ve worked with them, and then you’ll be prepared for anything…’sides, its always you n me together, Johnny, remember? Realistically you’re not gonna have to actually handle them on the field, you just need to be prepared to.”

The ‘Just in case’ that eluded his last sentence was silent.

The whole time you couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that Ghost was unusually…tender for a man in charge over the Sergeant. Normally when people bitched at the higher ups in your base they’d be shouted at and told to man up or fuck off. Ghost was actually explaining himself to Soap, trying to rationalise what he was doing as if he somehow owed it to him. He treated Soap like he treated you, ensuring he was able to calm down and trying to fill him in so he could take comfort in knowing what was happening. 

The treatment seemed to work just as well on Soap as it did you. He huffed out a defeated breath and relaxed, looking from you to Ghost while the irate cloud above him dispersed and became lost in the gentle atmosphere. 

“Fine. Can you show me what to do again?”

“Atta boy,” Ghost said, grin evident in his voice. “Hand here, and legs nice and stable. You need to keep moving forward at a nice even pace, you have to set the right speed. Soon as Pup tries to push on ahead, you grip the back of their neck like that.”

You growled as you felt Ghost put pressure on your scruff, instinctively feeling the work drive build up within you. He just shook his head and gave you an unamused stare for your efforts. 

“The growling’s all just noise. Stupid noise,” Ghost said, intentionally setting his eyes on you, “but there’s no intention of threat behind it - not while we’re in charge.”

“What do you mean ‘not while we’re in charge’?” Soap asked, making a face. 

“Pup won’t have any reason to hurt us. We’re not gonna go yanking tails and hitting like fuckin’ children when we don’t get our way.”

“Wh- y’mean that was a commanding officer that did that?” Soap asked, motioning to your crooked tail. 

“Like I said - shit training. C’mon, take the collar.”

Soap didn’t quite look like he’d recovered from the shock of being told about your tail. He gingerly reached out and took your collar with a frown set heavily into his face. You wondered if it was because he really pitied you that much, or if it was because he thought you might take out your anger on him. You leaned more toward the latter reasoning. Despite his reservations though, he was able to do as Ghost asked this time. 

“Good, that’s it, Johnny.” 

Soap visibly puffed up from the praise. His grip on you tightened. He was more sure of himself now, he marched ahead and set you into an even pace, the rhythm catching onto your feet contagiously. Naturally there were still a few moments where you wanted to pull forward and rush through, but now that Soap was placing his trust in Ghost’s intuition, you were gently guided into keeping within his step. 

“Good Pup, keep it up!”

Soap didn’t immediately latch onto what Ghost had told him about your growling, he still wrenched himself back a few times after correcting you. The horrible tractor-like sound would comically twist his features. However this time, he was actually able to get to the checkpoint with you. Then after a few more trials, you were both flying down the course, high on Ghost’s praises and untouched by any paintball that tried to come your way. 

After the fourth time he called for a break, roughly crossing his hands into a T shape while he doubled over and panted and puffed for air. His signature sage scent wafted strongly from him now, invading your senses and forcing you back a step or two.

A discreet smile stole its way onto your face, a smug one if you were honest. There was a steady tension starting to warm in your legs, but you were no where near over extension. Apparently all the breakfast and rest you’d gotten had done you wonders, because you felt like you could keep going all day and all night, maybe longer than that. It made you wonder if maybe Price and Ghost didn’t have a point to all the nice things they were doing for you afterall. 

“You did well, Soap,” Ghost chuckled, wandering back onto the course with a swagger to his step. “You too, Pup. Reckon you’ll be nice and warmed up for Price and Garrick now.”

“Christ, Pup’s gonna do this two more times?” Soap asked, looking over at you in wonder. 

“Mhmm,” Ghost hummed.

“You not tired?” Soap asked, directing his question toward you.. 

You laughed at that, unsure as to why he’d be so shocked you were going to keep going. Normally you’d spend your whole days training when you weren’t on an active mission. Running and sparring were practically all you knew. If you were to tire out early, you’d be punished for it, blamed for not getting enough sleep or not eating your shitty MREs. Stopping wasn’t in the equation. 

“I can go all day,” you shrugged.

“Christ, and they tell me I’m hyperactive.”

-🐺-

Overall impressed with your performance that day, Ghost had insisted on dragging you out to a shopping villiage, or as you now thought of it - a torture desensitisation arena. Even later on at night, there were so many people around: screaming children that were moaning about being tired and hungry, teenagers laughing like hyenas, couples arguing over what they should and shouldn’t spend their money on. It didn’t help that there were so many busy shop fronts as well, colours and flashing lights and products you wouldn’t even know what to do with. It was a circus of too many stimuli and you were stuck at it’s roaring centre, sticking to Ghost like a fly on tape. 

As soon as he’d parked up you’d demanded to know why he’d brought you there, not able to help the rising panic at being taken somewhere new. He’d explained that it was time to buy you some much needed casual clothes. Personal items. At the mention of that dreaded subject, you’d tried to protest and remind him about getting your brand new stack of clothes from the quartermaster, but Ghost had just snorted and said that he wasn’t taking you everywhere in your uniform. He didn’t care for the looks it would get him - said the man wearing a black medical skull mask over his face.

Undeterred by your saying that he didn't need to waste money on you, Ghost all but yanked you into all clothes shops, leading you by the hand and forcing you to pick casual clothes that you liked from the small selection the hybrid sections offered. It was an exercise made to humiliate, you’d thought, you had no idea how to pick clothes for yourself that weren’t standard issue - had no idea what colours and materials and fits went together with what. He’d made you pick what felt good in the end, said that Soap had told him the important thing was picking something comfortable - it didn’t narrow your search by very much.

Propelled by the thought of getting to leave if you just compiled, you eventually settled on some blue vans trainers, a cosy pullover hoodie, two new pyjama sets, a couple of pairs of jeans and a few T-shirts that weren’t too adventurous - save for the one that had some illustrated plants on it. Even that little amount felt like far too much, overwhelming you with how much choice you’d have when your promised downtime would come. Though every time you asked if you’d picked enough, Ghost would just fix you with a stony look that told you to keep going. 

Then as if that wasn’t enough, he took you over to a bookshop as well, claiming you needed something to entertain yourself with in your downtime. Even when you told him you’d managed alright up till that point. However, when you were left to explore so that Ghost could go pick something for himself, it wasn’t the books there that you were most taken by. 

“What’ve you got there then?”

You froze, shoulders bunching as you heard Ghost’s voice softly break your awed silence and looked guiltily down at the little puppy teddy you were holding. You weren’t supposed to be looking at that- that’s what you figured when you saw his shadow cross your path. A picture of his sneering face crossed your mind’s eye, darkened by that unruly blonde fringe of his. 

What were you supposed to say to him? After blankly looking at a few of the books, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over to the little displays of plushies, and had slowly gravitated toward it when you saw the little dog that was now in your hands. 

The dog’s fur was so unbelievably soft and its little spotted face reminded you of one of your favourite cartoons from when you were small. It called out to you and lured you in with the reminder of some old theme song that played in your head, made you pick it up and stroke its squishy black and white tummy with a smile plastered all over your face. 

“I got distracted, sorry,” you murmured, gently placing it amongst its spotted siblings. 

Ghost came round to your side and picked up the same puppy you’d been holding. You tilted your head in surprise and watched as he did the same as you, stroking the soft tummy while inspecting it. It looked comically smaller in his hands though, like a newborn pup. 

“You want him?”

Your ears perked in surprise when he spoke. Finally you chanced a look up at him and felt your cheeks warm when you made eye contact, thoroughly embarrassed that you’d been caught. Though he didn’t look judgemental like you’d thought he would, instead he just stared at you earnestly over his black medical mask and gave you a chance to speak. 

“I…um...” you weren’t sure what to say. 

Of course you wanted him. Every little instinct in you wanted to take the toy and hold it and cuddle it and never let go. However that wasn’t the kind of behaviour befitting of a military class hybrid like you, and it was the kind of thing you’d have been endlessly mocked, if not punished for before. 

Soldiers don’t cuddle their teddy bears and blankets, they make their beds quickly and efficiently and don’t concern themselves with such stupid frivolities!

“It’s not a trick question, Pup. No wrong answer,” Ghost supplied, holding the puppy out to you encouragingly. 

You breathed out a sigh, but your chest didn’t feel any less heavy. Even if it was such a silly decision to make, it still felt like such a big undertaking. If you said yes and took it, would Ghost think less of you? You already thought less of you for wanting it. You were already filled with judgement, the voices of all the superiors that had ever disciplined you mocking you in one big evil choir. 

Stupid little baby wolf. 

You whined, but even despite yourself, you took it and held it to your chest. 

“Hey, you deserve to have things of your own, that’s what tonight’s all about,” Ghost said, gently setting his hand on your shoulder as he did so. “You deserve to exist outside of the military, to be more than a war dog. If this makes you happy, then we should get ‘im.”

You wanted to keel over then as you rolled your eyes, let your whole body collapse with the motion. This dog at least was a simple decision in terms of what you liked, much easier than when you’d been standing in front of all those dreaded clothes racks, but it didn’t make finalising it any easier. Not when your feelings were colliding like waves against a harbour wall, one side seemingly solid while the other corroded it.

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

“I’m not supposed to want things like this,” you mumbled, holding the teddy out in front of yourself again like it was some kind of alien object. 

“Why not?” he chuckled.

“Because it’s for children,” you said dryly.

“It’s not for children,” he scoffed. “There’s no rules on who gets to buy cuddly toys. Anyway, you clearly want the little fella, so we’re getting him.”

You frowned, looking confusedly down at the dog again. 

“But It’s a distraction…All of this stuff is,” you uttered, feeling Maddox’s voice speak through you like a spell had been cast. “It’ll take my mind off important things and get everyone hurt.”

You thought back to the kid in the bunk next to you, the one that had cried on the first day because they couldn’t have their teddy bear to sleep with. Maddox had lectured you all then and there, almost shouting the fur off your ears, saying that hybrid soldiers couldn’t let anything get in the way of them functioning. Needing a teddy bear to sleep wouldn’t fly when you were overseas and catching bullets because you were sleep deprived, reading books to escape your miserable new lives would get you killed when your heads were still stuck in them, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. 

“You don’t think we all need distractions sometimes?” Ghost asked. “Distractions make life worth living, and you’re no less deserving of that than anyone on the team. Don’t you think?”

You didn’t have an answer for that. In fact, you were arguing a point that wasn’t even yours. So, in response, you shrugged and traced one of the puppy’s patches.

“I think you care about me like…a weird amount,” you mumbled. 

“A weird amount?” Ghost scoffed, hiding a crinkly eyed smile behind his mask. “Why’s it weird to care about you, huh?” 

You shrugged again. 

“Ok, listen. You’ve been all twisted up by those idiots at your last base and I want you to know that I’m not gonna legitimise a single thing that they’ve taught you. This is what it’s going to be like now, this is what you get for coming in everyday and working your arse off. The fact that you’ve been given no compensation and been run so badly into the ground by those cretins is nothing short of appalling. Believe me when I tell you that I know it’s not as simple as flicking a switch and getting used to good treatment - it won’t happen just because I tell you it’s all over now and I understand that. Just…let me give you a little bit of comfort, yeah? Just to show you how things should be. Just enjoy a distraction or two and see that it won’t be life ending, and it’s not gonna get taken away from you. I promise you’ll be fine” 

Your throat was too thick with emotion to answer. So instead of making a fool out of yourself you nodded your assent and looked down at your new prize with wonder. How long had it been since you’d owned something that didn’t have any function or use on the battlefield? How long since you’d held something so soft?

“Now…did you actually look at any books or did you just stand and bully yourself for wanting something nice?”

You jumped when Ghost’s grizzled voice sounded out and brought your mind back to task, shaking your head of all your musings. Choosing books - right. All at once, the multicoloured aisles came back to view and all the people in them, the room filled out around you and made you hold your puppy down low at your side and out of view.

“Yeah, I um- I think I found something cool.”

-🐺-

That night Ghost let you stay up in bed for a little bit to read. Leaving you nestled in your swarm of blankets sitting side by side with your new friend as the plush sat up against the pillows with you. Your eyes poured over the artwork of your new graphic novels in wonder, admiring the bold colours and thick lines, turning the glossy pages ever so slowly as if your heart would stop beating when you got to the end of the book. 

When you ended the first chapter you smiled down at the little dog rather childishly and bit your lip. It was silly to name inanimate objects, it didn’t take someone standing over you and shouting at you to know that, though you couldn’t help it when the name seemed to cling to him with an unshakable grip. Simon. You’d name him Simon after the main character in the story. It seemed to suit the little black and white dog just as much as it did the hybrid boy, and now there was no changing it - unfortunately for you. 

[fan-goddess]

A Rose by Any Other Name…

Original Request: Is tagged here if ya wanna read :)

Authors Note: I'm so mixed with this i love some parts yet hate others it's 50/50. Other than that though I adore this au request and hope i did it justice. Just a headsup they're ngl both toxic stupid younglings.

Word count: 9k words (wow...)

Taglist: @humanpurposes @watercolorskyy, @omgbrcat @blue-serendipity @arcielee

Warnings: Pain, chronic pain, pain flare ups due to chronic pain, soulmates, fluff, angst, actually loving parents, not really a mention of her features only eyes, called a woman and referred to as she/her pronouns, self ableism, a more darker!aemond, implied abuse of royal power, Aemond ngl being lowkey toxic so they both stupid af (if I miss any let me know)

When first learning about soulmates and the fates which follow them, you had prayed to all the seven gods that you would never be misfortune enough to have one. That you should never feel the pain your soulmate felt with flowers marking your skin.

Your mother did not have one, nor did your father or any of your relatives before them, as according to them the whole thing was actually quite rare among the whole of the seven kingdoms.

Though you suppose you never had been very lucky. It was probably what praying to the stranger did to you.

Your first encounter with those damn deep blue flowers that stung while they branded you was on your legs and your abdomen. According to your septas and the lone maester who was permitted to treat your marks, they looked like marks given to a boy beginning his training in combat.

To them, this was seen as an honor, as it meant if you ever got the opportunity to meet him he could protect you. But to you, this merely meant that you were going to need to get used to that incessant stinging. They never knew what it felt like to feel those damn flowers plaguing your body, but not even you knew how to fully describe what it was like. The only way you could even dare think about it if you were truly forced too, was that it was a death sentence.

You never thought through the few years that passed after making the discovery of possessing a soulmate that the pain could get quite worse. But it appears like always, the idea of luck was not on your side.

It was a strange feeling to wake to a flower blooming on the skin of your left eye. The pain was what you focused on most however, as to be awoken to what you could only describe as being fire scorching your skin was something you could never truly describe but know for the rest of your life. Compared to your earlier marks and the pains that came with them, those were merely like when the septas would swiftly hit the ruler over your knuckles.

While you screamed and writhed in pain in your childhood bed, the maester took quick work in forcing milk of the poppy down your aching throat while the small group of septas held back your worrying mother and father who stood scared in the doorway. The medicines effects soon took its place though to yours and everyone's relief, and you were taken in some sort of daze like sleep.

When you awoke a few hours later with your head still fuzzy and a cooling salve slathered patch over your eye, your father was sitting on a chair propped to the edge of the bed tightly holding your hand while your mother slept beside you above the covers.

"Oh my darling, we were so worried!" Your father said, pulling you into a close embrace that woke your mother up from her sleep. By the way the skin underneath her eyes was darkened and how she yawned as soon as she sat up, you could tell she had been trying to stay up all night for you, and the very idea of it made you smile with gratitude you knew other children did not possess. "You gave us such a fright when we heard you screaming so late at night! What happened?"

"I... I do not know father," You said truthfully, your hand unconsciously going to remove the patch from your eye, but stopping when your father grabs your hand and gives you a stern glare that reminds you of your youth, specifically whenever you would steal an extra lemon bar after dinner. "All I remember is falling asleep and then waking to this horrendous pain in my eye and all around it..."

You have a faraway look in your eye as you find yourself unable to look at your mother and fathers lingering questioning gaze. They may not have ever said it, but you can tell that they pity you greatly for the path the gods have pushed you on. You thought this soulmate of yours was some training knight-to-be. But what knight-to-be experienced battle as harsh as having damage to his eye as horrific as you felt it to be? It did possibly occur to you that your soulmate may actually be a hardened knight with years of experience on the battlefield. But after bringing up the concern with your maester, he assured you that the marks you bore would be a lot worse if he was truly some older knight, a kingsguard or even a goldcloak.

Later that day after being ordered to eat lots to restore your energy, your maester came by that evening to visit and check on your mark. His words were kind as he assured you it would've most likely gone down in its intensity since you barely felt anything now except some throbbing from your socket. According to him, while you lay screaming from the pain, a deep blue flower had taken over your entire socket where the pain had bloomed from, in a strange fascinating way making your eye its center.

His touch was gentle as he slowly peeled back the fabric. Yet his face which once held a supportive smile turns to shock and pure horror once you tilted your head up to look at him.

“Maester, what is the matter?” You ask, biting your lip in pure anxiety as he says nothing but stares at your eye. He does not even look away as he grabs a mirror by your bedside table and hands it too you.

When you look into it though, you do not realize what is so wrong except for some small petal edges that leak from around your eye. But then you look more closely and realize with a loud gasp how your once green eye is now a deep blue, and when you close it you gasp again as you comprehend how now a flower has bloomed on your eyelid.

“What… what has happened, maester?!” You yell, unable to look away from your newly changed face.

“I do not know exactly my lady,” The maester begins, forcibly snatching the mirror from your hands so you’re forced to look at him and listen. “The whole written topic of soulmates to my knowledge is so little given at how rare they are, so there is truly not much advice to give you. The basic idea though as I told you when your condition first developed, is that when he is in pain, you are to have a flower bloom on your skin where the pain originates. There is no record I’m afraid of this condition affecting the physical body except from the blooming flowers and the pain that comes with it.”

You stay quiet as you listen to the maester, tears build up as you realize your life shall not be the same. While the idea of having two different coloured eyes is a condition seen around the seven kingdoms, it is still a noticeable thing that would draw attention of the people.

And honestly, you were not sure if you wanted to meet your soulmate. This latest development in your condition is so new and so frightening. Though you must say you cannot help but feel sorry for the soul the gods have promised you too. While what you felt was agony, you have no idea how much it must’ve hurt for your soulmate at that moment.

Over the next few days, you were closely monitored by the maester, the septa’s and your parents who all were anxious to see if the flower on your eye would slowly go down like the other flowers did when the pain disappeared or if it would remain. And much to yours and everyone around you's annoyance, it very much stayed bright and clear on your skin no matter what ointment or potion was used to clear it.

On the fourth day after the incident, as your father called it, a maid who was one of the few with knowledge of your condition came into your chambers with your morning meal, and some important news.

“My lady,” she began, practically sweating as she placed the tray in front of you. “There has been a recent development in regard to your soulmate's identity.”

Since the pain you felt was the most extreme you had ever felt, your father had felt the need to hire some men to investigate to see if this new information would reveal your soulmate's identity, even though the chance of finding an answer was slim to none. Though you suppose there was never a zero percent chance, as proven by the fact there was according to the maid, a recent development.

“What is it?” You ask, biting into the lemon cake first and savoring the sweet yet sour taste on your tongue. “What has my father discovered that he does not feel the need to come tell me himself?”

“Well…” She stumbles, even stepping back a small step as she instinctively looks to the ground. “It turns out that the same day you had that incident my lady, the prince Aemond Targaryen had his eye taken by his young nephew Lucerys, and it was reported to your father that the damage was so bad the eye had to be removed and the socket sewn up.”

The cake that once laid in your hand falls back onto the plate. Your mouth like the cake falls open in the same undignified manner as you cannot believe the words you are hearing.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen?” You find yourself asking in a breathless tone, silent as the maid nods her head.

“May I be dismissed now, my lady?” She asks, knocking you out of a daze you hadn’t even realized you had fallen into. You nod in answer and watch as she leaves, leaving you in silence and your own thoughts that begin to run rampant.

You were soulmates with the Prince! A Targaryen Prince! You heard that out of his three siblings he was the only one with no dragon, but you honestly did not care if he did or did not as either way he was still a man of honor. When thinking of the injuries you received over the years, you cannot help but think of how it made sense.

You knew princes received special training similarly to that of young knights, so when the maester said that the injuries matched up with them made sense. Yet to hear of the Prince's injury that perfectly synced with your own, that was what finally made it all make sense.

You lay backwards in your bed, and allowed the anxiety to wash over your body. The food lay to waste against the covers as you thought only of what your future could hold as a wife of royalty. Of how you would never be a true lady of the court and in the end would no doubt bring about disgrace to your husband's name. Of how in the end compared to your soulmate, the Targaryen warrior, you are just a woman from a lower house who could not bring anything into the marriage but your empty womb.

The next few years after the realization of your soulmate, you spent your time attempting to convince your father not to pursue a marriage between yourself and the Prince. But to your surprise and happiness, your father agreed to not pursue anything marriage related to you without so much of a fuss, even when you, your father and even your mother knew how much a marriage between you and the Prince would help your house bloom in both social standing and resources.

You felt selfish in your insistence of your future, but your father was adamant in telling you that he was not angry in your decision and if anything he was proud to see you so passionate about your decisions.

Your mother much to your delight seemed to agree with you, which probably the main if not the only reason was why your father acted so calmly. According to her you were too young for marriage, which to most people seeing as your mother and father were married quite young it may be seen as hypocritical. But those people were not there to witness all the times your mother gripped her stomach and dreamed of the brothers and sisters you lost on the birthing bed and before.

You were sure not to injure yourself too greatly in fear of that, like how you found out Prince Aemond, he would discover your true identity and come to your doors to claim you in the same way his elder brother Prince Aegon supposedly claimed the ladies of the red keep. 

Yet like all those years ago the night when you realized your eye hard turned blue. The gods were not on your side.

You scream as the pain quickly makes itself known in your arm forcing you to forget anything you’ve ever known other than that overwhelming seering sensation. The tears mask your ability to see the blood pooling up from your skin, and you can hear muffled running in the distance as well as the sound of panicked shouting from the familiar voices of the septas you made such close acquaintances with all those years ago.

You can feel their hands grabbing you, but nothing beats the pain that you cannot even begin to put into words. The maester is by your side as soon as you’re brought to the healing room, and his old wrinkled touch is distinct on your skin as he tries to find the blue flowers he has become so familiar with. Only he does not find blue. Only red. Which is the color of your blood that dyes his fingernails and the tips of his cloak crimson.

Like all those years ago, milk of the poppy is brought to your lips and you are forced to swallow hard and quick. The familiar daze returns as you quickly become numb to the feeling of the sharp needle piercing your skin as the maester attempts to fix you.

You stayed in that bed for at least a day or two before you came too again, but at this point you are used to being there within those familiar walls.

According to the maester, at the height at which you fell from the tree you were climbing in, the tree you were in fact always forbidden to climb but ignored thinking you were safe, you broke your arm clean in two. Apparently the bone had managed to pierce your skin, which is why there had been so much blood. So in order to allow it to heal properly he formed a special layer of hardened protection to stop the arm from any unnecessary movements that could cause further damage to the arm.

As he tells you this, you cannot help but think of how the Prince is thinking right now. Did he get that same piercing pain in his arm too? Did the flowers bloom the same way yours did whenever he managed to harm himself? Were his flowers even the same color as your own? You felt so deep in thought you barely even heard your mother come in to visit.

“My love?” She says, taking your hand in hers and drawing you out from your thoughts. “How are you faring?”

“I am alright mother. The pain is gone, all thanks to the maester.” You say, simply reassuring her as she looks at you carefully to assess whether you lie or not. Yet as she does this you cannot help but notice a distinct figure missing right now. “Where is father?” You cannot help but ask, curious in his whereabouts.

“He went to Kingslanding my love. Do you not remember?” She asks, lips pursed in a sad smile. “You were all set to go with him this morning but since your fall, he was forced to go alone. He sends his best though and wishes that you find a fast recovery, which is seems you have managed to accomplish my strong girl.”

“Oh yes…” You say, remembering she was in fact right. “I suppose I forgot. I did hit my head when I fell.” As soon as you say the words you instantly wince with regret. As before you can even try and defend yourself your mother calls the maester back in and demands a series of further assessments to be done. You sigh as you fall back and your head hits the pillow. This is going to be a long day.

Your father, as he traveled along the road into kingslanding, felt guilt gnawing at his chest for leaving you behind whilst you laid in that healing bed. When he left, you had been in a deep sleep so he had been unable to say goodbye. So he kissed your forehead and squeezed the hand on your unbroken arm and left you to sleep. The guilt remains, but he knows that whilst you lay in that bed you are surrounded and are safer in the presence of your mother and the maester and septas, who overtime have managed to gain much more insight than the majority of people into the topic of soulmates.

As they are so rare, they are viewed as freaks, even though he personally believes that they should be celebrated for being looked upon so greatly by the gods that they have been given a person cut from the same cloth.

When he looks at his own wife, who has given him such light from the darkness of his own life, he likes to think she is his soulmate with or without the flowers blooming on her skin. To him, she is just as beautiful as a fresh bloomed flower after all.

When he exits his carriage down the steps, the queen awaits him with only two of her children standing beside her, and he notices immediately that it is Aemond who is currently absent.

“Will the Prince Aemond not be joining us?” He finds himself asking, eyes widening slightly as he remembers that he is in the presence of royalty. Not some fellow lord whose son is out sleeping away his hangover after fucking a dozen whores.

“No, I'm afraid not Lord Fletcher. My son awoke this morn with a dreadful headache as the maester and he has told me, so he will be staying in his chambers for the duration of the meeting. Probably even for long after you’ve left I’m afraid.” The queen Alicent says, a smile on her face that he immediately knows is forced and strained. After all, he has had to make similar lies when people at the gatherings expect to see you and don’t.

“Ahh, I understand my queen. My own daughter has the same issue with her own health. Some days she wakes as healthy as can be then the next she’s laying in her bed writhing from the worst of pains.” He says, not entirely lying as he remembers those exact moments happening to you as you grew up.

“Ah yes well still we thank you for your understanding.” She smiles again, motioning for him to come and follow her into the castle. “Shall we get down to business?”

The next few hours are spent with him, the queen, and a few other notable house lords debating in the council room. At times the table becomes heated as words are thrown without proper caution, but the Queen always lets a small yet loud cough to remind the men of their place. So to his amusement whenever this happens, the men immediately even when their voices before could shake a mountain, quieten down like freshly stuck dogs denied a newly cut piece of prime steak.

Just as though another annoyingly arrogant man from House Lannister demands to know why his house is in need of paying more of its gold to a lord from House Tarly, the doors burst open, and the second born son of the king walks through as though he was born to strut. As the prince he sits down in the end chair of the council table with all eyes on him, Lord Fletcher cannot help but think about how as soon as he gets home he cannot wait to tell you of how this was the first time he met your soulmate.

“Are you feeling alright my Prince?” He finds himself asking, raising a brow as he turns to the Queen, whose own face holds embarrassment and shock to see her son sitting there before her. “The Queen had told me when I arrived that you were not going to attend today's meeting due to a headache?”

The Prince looks at his mother with what could only be called disdain, and it appears to make her slouch back into her seat while she takes her hand in her own and begins to pick at the nail. It honestly reminds him of how you bite your lips half bloody in your own strange anxiety relieving way.

“I am afraid my mother is mistaken my Lord Fletcher,” The prince simply says. “I merely overdid myself when training with the sword yesterday. I was waiting for the maester to visit so he could give me something to relieve the pain. I do apologize for my tardiness.”

“Oh there is no issue at all my prince.” Lord Fletcher says, an attempt of a smile on his lips. Though he soon becomes distracted when he sees Aemonds eye wander around all those in the room, as if to take some sort of strange attendance record.

“Is your daughter not with you today?” Aemond finally speaks, meeting his eye with Lord Fletcher's own two while he stares him down. “I went to visit my sister before this meeting thinking she would be there so I could greet her and welcome her to kingslanding. But my sister tells me she has never met your daughter. Why is that?”

The Queen Alicent perks from her seat as she remembers now finally remembers the information that had been picking at her all day. “Oh yes my lord pray tell, where is she? I had been so looking forward to introducing her to my only daughter. I had thought the two would get along quite well.”

Lord Fletcher attempts to laugh to ease the sudden tension in the room, but it appears to if anything makes it worse as no faces change from their stoney exterior.

“I’m afraid the day before our departure, my dear daughter had an accident that quite badly injured her arm, the same arm in fact you say to have harmed during your training my prince!” Again he laughs, but that does not stop him from seeing the look the prince and queen share with each other.

It appears the prince is more aware than he thought with the motion of soulmates, though it does make sense when thinking of all the things he’d heard of the one-eyed prince. He is a scholarly boy, so it’d make sense for him to research and look in depth into all the possible books about soulmates the royal library or even the citadel have to offer. He even has the Grand Maester at his beck and call, who no doubt has more information on the topic than anyone else.

“Tell me my lord, how did your daughter have such an accident?” The prince asks as he leans forward so far in anticipation he looks to be at the edge of his seat. “It must’ve been from quite a great height for her to have received such injuries. I do hope she has a quick recovery.”

“Thank you my prince, it means a lot to hear from you. As for how she fell, I believe she was climbing in a tree somewhere on our land when she fell and broke a bone in her arm, the end of which pierced her skin just between her elbow and arm socket, or so our maester told me before I left. I worry about her recovery yes, but I know she is in the hands of a capable maester so I do not doubt she will be feeling much better soon.”

The Prince appears to squint slightly at Lord Fletcher before looking back to his mother. It almost looks like there is a silent conversation between the two, and it’s only interrupted by small tilts of heads by the both of them. It was strange yet interesting to watch.

The Prince hums his final response to the once silent conversation before looking back at Lord Fletcher. “Well as she was unable to make the journey with you to Kingslanding, I suppose I shall have to make the journey to your own home and in a way being Kingslanding to her.”

The silence rings throughout the council room again, with even the queen looking at her son in shock. The councilmen who’d been long forgotten don’t dare attempt to speak a single word since the prince's declaration, which only further proves Lord Fletcher's idea that they’re all idiots in their own rights.

“Are you sure my Prince?” He asks, “Tis I’m sure a tedious journey for you and your dragon-“

“Tis no issue!” Aemond interrupts sharply, his tone firm and assertive. “You are set to travel back home the next morn by carriage I hear. So I shall travel by Vhagar tonight so I may spend the night and meet your daughter in the morn. Is that sufficient enough for you my lord?”

The Prince does not leave room for an answer, as before Lord Fletcher can even open his mouth the Prince already has left the room leaving all councilman members and his mother in shock at the turn of events. And while he feels that same shock, he also cannot help but feel fearful as he knows it’s with his words alone what drove the Prince to commit such quick actions.

He can only dread to think about how the introduction between you and the prince will turn out.

When you awoke the morning after your father had left for Kingslanding, the thing that struck most odd with you were the maids. They looked more fearful than you had ever seen them, and they even avoided eye contact with you, which was odd as by now they had all gotten used to your eye.

“What is the matter with all of you?” You spit, glaring at all the ladies who even after you confronting them refuse to look you in the eyes.

They stay silent as they continue to stare at the stone floor, until finally one of the more recent of the lot breaks the silence.

“The Prince is here, my lady.”

Any anger you felt before this moment disappears soon as it brews and instead is replaced by only stone cold fear.

“He cannot see me…” You murmur, seeing the ladies agree and nod out the corner of your eye. “The Prince cannot see me!”

“He specifically spoke of you when he arrived, my lady,” The maid continues, slowly looking up to stare pitifully at your practically trembling form. You can feel yourself begin to chew at the skin of your inner lip, and yet if anything it encourages you to continue when you start to taste the familiar tang of copper smear on your tongue. “Claims that whenever you wake he wishes for you to join him to break fast together as soon as possible.”

The more this lady speaks the more your gut turns and twists within your body. By now the taste of copper gushes down your throat yet you welcome it gladly, even refusing the goblet one of the other more meeker maids offered you to wash the taste away when they saw red begin to stain your outer lip.

“I have to hide it.” You find yourself firmly saying as you look at one of the older ladies. “Tell me, do we keep any veils that are out of use?”

When the prince awoke within the unfamiliar comfort of the bed with a tired groan building within the back of his throat, it is the memory of the council meeting from the day before that floods his mind, forcing the once tired and sore body into being now quick and alert with excitement and anxiety.

When Aemond was but a young boy, he remembers during one of his lessons on the reign of Maegor feeling a sharp stinging in his knuckles. When he looked down, much to his shock and horror, he saw that light blue flowers were blooming across the pale skin. As much as the initial sight had shocked him dreadfully at first, Aemond could not help but think of that day during later years fondly. As that was the day he realized that maybe after the gods had given him, he was not truly alone.

The Grand Maester had told him everything he himself knew about the topic, and even sent a raven to the citadel to request books speaking of the tales written in the texts. According to him, Aemond was the first in a long time to come forward about possessing one.

Aemond prayed to the gods to meet them soon, but no matter how much he got on his knees no matter how many times he held his hands together in the grand sept with his mother next to him, no girl ever came forward to claim him.

And by the next year, Aemond felt more alone than ever before.

His flowers were never to be allowed to be seen in the eyes of anyone other than his family, a select few maids and the grand maester of course. This was because according to his grandsire, fathers from all across the realm would put their daughters forward claiming to be his soulmate. Also, if it was discovered he had a soulmate, those same fathers may not deem him suitable for marriage if he will abandon his wife for another woman. It was better to hide, so a marriage could be insured and an heir to his name.

Though any thought of a good tempered wife or even a marriage that could soon turn to affection was gone the moment Lucerys stole his eye. He does not remember much other than the pain, but what comes to mind is the thought in the back of his head hoping his soulmate would be alright. Praying that she would not hate him and would still love him even after now being turned into a cripple.

That day he may have lost an eye, but he gained a dragon. He gained the strength to protect his soulmate, and that to him was all that mattered, other than the protection of his mother. Somehow at that moment as she stood there before him, she looked more vulnerable than he did.

While Aemond lay in his bed healing, his mind turned to his soulmate as he remembered the reasoning behind the flowers. The flowers bloom where pain on the other person blooms, in an assurance that they are not alone in this world. Aemond could not help but think it all as a cruel sort of joke, especially as the pain in his eye begins to slowly throb. Yet a part of him is still thrilled to know that even though the Gods have cruelly broken him and built him back up again, there is a person given to him who will share his pain and see him for what he is.

He became even more desperate to discover you as soon as he was fully healed. He called the Grand Maester as soon as he spotted the familiar blue coloring on his skin, and together they looked over each inch of petal extensively until they day turned to night and the oil in the lamps burned out.

According to him, they were marks like that of a piece of wood struck on the knuckles. Which makes sense as Aemond remembers all the times Aegon would fall asleep soon as lessons started, and halfway through a particularly menacing Maester would strike him with a sort of smooth wooden object directly on the knuckles to wake him. It would be a sight that made Aemond smugly smile while he completed all the necessary work and chuckle at later, but thinking of that same treatment happening to his lady made his heart clench in his chest.

Nowadays, whenever he found himself getting injured, whether that is simply a bruise from training with Ser Cole or a sudden onslaught of inner pain in his eye socket, in his mind he always found himself apologizing at the back of his mind for causing pain for his lady. He finds himself wishing he was better in lessons so he could have avoided the swords, wishing he had fought better in the caves against his nephews and cousins so he wasn’t missing his eye. Whatever the situation, Aemond always craved that he was better. And found at the center of it all it was all for her.

He remembers his three and ten name day much too clearly. It lingers in the back of his mind like a plague. The salty stench of the air. The taste of the cheap alcohol Aegon had forced him to consume as according to him, the act was better when a person is left in a daze. The feeling of that woman’s too warm skin. The sound of her supposedly seductive voice that instead of arousing him only managed to make him further horrified. All of it stayed with him for years sticking to his skin.

Though the part which struck out most for him were the thoughts he could not help but think as that woman sunk down on him and robbed him of any free will. The realization that he would not be able to stay chaste for his soulmate. The idea that maybe she would not want to be with him once she found that her soulmate had laid with filthy whores paid by the go to fuck all sorts of men.

He ran out of that place as soon as the weight on his limp body was lifted, and as soon as he reached the comforts of his own bed with the covers lifted well over him like a cocoon, he cried. He cried for the loss of his body. He cried for the loss of his ability to think without remembering what that woman was doing to him while dribbles of tears streaked down his cheek. He cried for not being faithful to you.

He cried for his future with a soulmate who hated him for actions beyond his own control.

Though as Aemond dressed in appropriate clothes he brought with him for the special moment, his mind cannot help but think back to his earlier worries. Yet now, he is a man.

Aemond possesses the largest dragon in the world. Which to him even now was worthy of the trade of his eye. He is a scholar of history and philosophy whose work has even been submitted to the citadel to be placed in books that’ll be read by many accomplished people. He is even a greatly talented swordsman as said so by all those who have watched him train in the yard. He has become a man worthy of your love and your future.

Yet his hands still fumble about with the other whilst he follows a plain looking maid to the dining hall. He requested a meeting with you in private specifically in a place you were familiar with so you could be comfortable when meeting him. He may be a dragon, but he likes to imagine that he is no monster.

He sits there for what feels like hours. Picking at the skin above his nail until he can feel the blood pooling. He’s about to do it again to his final nail on his left hand, but then you walk in and everything stops. Only not for the reason he would’ve hoped it to have.

As he does not meet the eyes of his soulmate. Instead he meets nothing. He merely stares blankly at the veil that covers your whole face.

“What are you wearing?” He asks, glaring at the damned piece of fabric in his way.

“Clothes, my Prince.” You simply say, the sarcasm not annoying him like how Aegons does. Though Aegon was always just a twat. You appear to make it interesting and actually entertaining to take part in.

“Trust me, my lady, I can see just fine with one eye.” He smirks, silently seething at the prospect of being unable to see your face. He already knows you to be beautiful, it just irks him that he is unable to confirm it. “Why do you hide yourself?”

“What do you mean my Prince?”

“Why do you hide your face? Is there a chance you are afraid of me? Or of what you think I will see?” As soon as the words leave his lips he sees the way your body freezes up. “Do you wish to sit down my dear lady? I am sure it was never a part of your etiquette lessons to break fast while standing.”

You do not say anything as you move to sit in a seat near the middle of the table, and Aemond already in his mind is thinking that’s much too far away from him as he continues to sit at the end seat.

The two of you though stay silent as you both begin to eat the spread of food in front. From the corner of his eye he watches you, and it’s strange how he finds himself suddenly so jealous of the fruit you begin to eat. Jealous of the way those grapes get to go under your ridiculous veil and be touched by your lips, which Aemond already knows to be soft and oh so kissable. He has never seen them, but he just knows.

“Would you not be more comfortable without the veil my lady?” Aemond asks, watching carefully as you stop eating and turn your head to look at him.

“No, I am fine with my current predicament. Is it not more comfortable for you to not wear the eyepatch?” You quip back, with no doubt a smile on your face.

“I suppose you are right my lady,” Aemond drawls, watching the way your head tilts and the fabric concealing you from him lightly pressed against the curves of your face. “How about I propose this. I take off my patch, and you take off your veil?”

“I do not accept it!” You practically yell, your hands clenching so hard that Aemond could see even from where he sat the knuckles turning white.

“Besides…” You continue in a much softer tone like that of a burdened lady, which Aemond knows for sure is not true at all from what he has heard of your life story. “I am hideous to look at. This veil more protects you than it protects me my Prince I am sure of it.”

Aemond hums a response, but his eye says all as it trails over your covered body.

“So those who have told me in person how you are easily one of the prettiest maidens they have seen are lying then, are they my lady?” He reveals, watching you carefully so he can attempt to decipher your movements.

“They must be my Prince. As far as I have been told, I am the ugliest lady they have ever seen and how I shall die a spinster locked away in a tower!”

It’s strange, how when Aemond thinks of that actually happening his fists clenched tightly by his sides, and how he gets the overwhelming urge to maim those people claiming you to be so hideous. To make them so ugly and deformed and force them to sit all day everyday in front of a mirror so they can see the true meaning of being grotesque.

“You lie.” Aemond simply growls, his brow harshly furrowed from the mixture of anger from the idea of those insulting you and frustration from you still hiding your true identity from him.

He closes his eye and takes a minute to simply breathe past his anger. His body slowly tingly as he swears he feels your eyes piercing his soul.

“What if I strike a bargain with you, my sweet maiden?” Aemond says, the nickname oozing off his tongue with arrogance and self assurance.

“And why should I even think about striking a deal with you, my Prince?”

“Because I believe it shall benefit the both of us my lady. Now, do you wish to hear what I have in mind?”

“If you insist on telling me then I suppose I shall be obliged to hear words from the Prince of the realm.” You sigh, leaning your body to one side so your head is laying on the palm of your hand and Aemond gets another glimpse at how you look without truly seeing you.

“I suppose you are…” He says, leaning forward so his arms are fully lying on the table and his spine is slightly curved. “Still, the bargain I wish for you to partake in is this. I shall take off my eye patch so you can see what true grotesque is, and you my sweet maiden shall take off your good for nothing veil. Then I suppose we can see out of the two of us who is the most ugly, as you so bluntly put it.”

Aemond barely has a chance to blink before you're yelling a distinctive and firm “No” that manages to echo somehow in the room.

“Now now my sweet don’t be so resistant…” Aemond grins, tilting his head to one side as he finds himself delighted with how riled he’s made you. “You did not even consider it for a second.”

“Because I did not need to!” You bite back, slamming your hands against the wooden table so hard it manages to shake your plate still possessing some food and even your goblet too. “If I do not wish to show you you have no right to force me!”

“Oh, but I’m afraid I do my sweet maiden…” He says, getting up from his chair so he can oh so slowly make his way over to where you appear to sit frozen in your own chair. “As a prince, I have power where you do not. Now, I do not wish to abuse such power for situations like this one. I do not like to abuse my power in general in any situation. But I may find myself very willing to show you what it is I am capable of. Do you understand me maiden?”

Aemond pauses for a moment as he watches the way the veil moves with every shallow breath you take before he does something that leaves his own heart beating frantically in his chest from every emotion possible to feel.

Aemond slowly peels off his eyepatch to reveal to you a shining blue sapphire surrounded by deep scarred flesh before chucking the piece of dark brown leather onto the table in front of you.

“I have completed my end of our bargain my sweet lady. Now complete yours, before I get impatient.”

You sigh deeply and Aemond cannot help but feel his heartbeat thrice as hard in his chest from anticipation alone. He yearns to see your eyes, your lips, your nose, your everything If only you should allow him too.

So when your hands slowly move to entangle themselves in where the veil begins from within your hair, his heart feels as though he fully stops when the veil is slowly pulled away and the face of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life stares back at him.

“Gevie” He cannot help but murmur as his eye moves over your whole face and his body is forced to sit down in the chair next to you so he can focus on looking solely at you.

“What does it mean?” You ask, though Aemond barely registers it as he’s entranced with how your lips move with each syllable.

“Beautiful.”

There is a rare silence between the two as they each take time now looking at each other. You stare at the sapphire that glints when the sunlight beaming through the window hits it. While Aemond now looks properly at your eye, which he has discovered is a whole different color than the other. And when you blink and reveal the delicate flower imprinted on your eyelid, he cannot help but gape and gasp slightly.

“Did I do that?” He asks, pure horror in his tone and words.

“It was done a long time ago my Prince,” You simply say, smiling slightly in a strange way to comfort him. “And in a way, I suppose it was done by whoever took out your own eye. I do not expect you to suddenly reveal to me that you tore it out yourself. So therefore, you should have no more guilt than the person truly responsible.”

“I’ll kill the bastard!” Aemond growls, anger spilling from him in waves as he thinks of his nephew whose crime has gone on for too long.

“Careful my Prince. Those are dangerous words you are saying about children of the crown. You are lucky it is only me who is here.” You smile.

At first, you were so defensive and so sure the veil would hinder the Prince from prying about what was underneath it. You had thought of him like how you thought of all other men, and that when challenged with the prospect of an ugly woman he would not care and move on. Yet you suppose the gods do like to play tricks in the unlikeliest of places.

He had worn you down with the harshest of phrases and the most defensive body language, yet when you saw him at his most vulnerable with his sapphire shown bare to you you could not help but allow the overwhelming feeling of awe take over you while you stared at him.

As you unmasked yourself before him however and saw his own look of awe while he stared at all your features that had once been so carefully hidden from him, you could not deny the way your heart beat loud in your chest.

Even the way he murmured in his unique Valyrian tongue made you feel a strange feeling of specialness. As if no other woman had been seduced by those same words.

As you spoke to each other, your tongue slowly loosed as it felt for some reason so right to do so. You joking with the Prince felt so natural and yet so foreign at the same time.

“I suppose I am lucky my lady that it is you who sits there.” He says in response to your dangerous quip about his nephews, whose mother if she had heard yours or Prince Aemonds words would’ve surely sharply questioned you for them with no thought of mercy. “Though I suppose I am even more lucky that it is no ordinary woman who sits before me.”

He waits for a moment to see if you will guess his next words. But to be honest he almost forgets them himself as he gets distracted staring at your bottom lip which you bite between your teeth.

“I am lucky as it is my soulmate who sits before me as beautiful as the maiden herself.”

You feel like all the air in your lungs has left and you're gasping for air. Yet it's not as painful as you thought. In fact, it's rather remarkable to feel yourself burn in the presence of a dragon.

Still, even with this miraculous feeling within you, you cannot help but think of how your soulmate treated you but moments before. Arrogant. Selfish. Coercive. Your soulmate forced you to show yourself to him when you were uncomfortable. Did you really want to be fated to be with that person for the rest of your life?

"What's wrong my love?" Aemond asks, seeing the anxious expression on your face.

"How is it you can be so kind to me, when not even what I can guess to be less than half of an hour ago you were treating me as if I were some sort of shit on your shoe?" You ask, looking him dead in the eye as his body appears to freeze up before you.

If you weren't so focused on forcing the truth from a prince of the realm, you would think that it was actually very thrilling and sort of empowering to force a prince into silence.

"I did not mean to treat you like that." He begins, his head tilted to the floor so you cannot see his eyes and his neatly kept hair falls forward like a sort of curtain either side of his face. "I am sorry I was harsh on you. I suppose... I suppose I was scared."

Oh?

"All of my life, since I was a child, I was praying for you. For my soulmate to come into my life. And I suppose after all that time passing without you turned me bitter and angry that the gods did not hear my pleas. My feelings only became more sour when finally in front of you, instead of immediately accepting me and welcoming me you denounced me and spurned me with your words."

"You really thought I would jump into your arms like some sort of innocent lovesick maiden?" You say, staring at the man in front of you in disbelief. Aemond for the first time since his confession looks up at you from his curtain of silver locks, disbelief in his own stare as he listens to your honest words.

"Aemond, the idea of being tied to someone for the rest of my life was challenging for me as a child. Before the loss of your eye, all I had felt was mere stings. Yet feeling the pain I felt that day, it frightened me. I was a child-"

"I WAS A CHILD TOO!" Aemond yells, standing up so suddenly and leaning over you that you shriek a little in fear. “I was the one experiencing it first hand! The one who had to be held down by maesters and stared at by all as milk of the poppy was forced down my throat so maesters could tear out my eye with no true concern for me! YOU DID NOT HAVE TO GO THROUGH THAT AS YOU LAID ABED WHINING LIKE SPOILT CHILD!”

“DO NOT YELL AT ME!” You find the courage to say, standing up and pushing him away so he stumbles a couple steps back in surprise. “I get that you are angry and believe the entire world hates you! But do not blame me because you cannot be angry at those truly deserving of it! Do not yell at me because you are forbidden from getting your revenge on your bastard nephew! Do you understand me?!”

Aemond, in the same manner as that of a kicked dog, nods a yes to your question. Though when you glare hard at him to tell him that answer is unacceptable he quickly fumbles for words that eventually make it out to be heard.

“Thank you.” You simply say, stepping forward to show him how he has earned that step. “I understand you were disappointed I was not there for you. But you need to understand I was scared about it all. Scared of my future, scared of what was to come. Do you even get how scared that must’ve been for me?”

“Yes I understand that.” Aemond says, stepping a single step closer and pausing to see if you allow it which you do. “I am sorry for not thinking of you when you yourself were obviously hurting yourself. I was selfish-“

“It is not selfish, Aemond, to act like how you did.” As you speak, you step that last final step towards your soulmate and place an admittedly cautious hand onto his cheek. Though you think what surprises you most is when he immediately closes his eye and pushes his cheek hard against your palm. “I forgive you Aemond, even when I don’t know if I ever should for how you treated me.”

“I do not truly expect you to.” Aemond murmurs, his eye still closed as he savors your warmth against his cheek. “Though I vow here before you as not just your soulmate but as a man, that I’ll make it my life’s mission to form myself as a man worthy for you. To form myself into what you deserve.”

“Though I suppose that’s the strangest thing about our whole meeting.” You whisper, placing your other hand on the part of Aemonds face where the dark brutal mark that is his scar takes most of its space. It forces a somehow now calm and content Aemond to all of a sudden open his eye and even gasp so silently you almost barely hear it when your thumb slowly traces the raised yet soft skin of the scar that has defined him for so long.

“I don’t find myself wishing you to change to be better. I find myself wishing for you to stay how you are, even if you may hurt me.”

And with that, without either of you knowing whose fault it truly is, your limbs find comfort with each other, and all feels right.

[yelenasdiary]

WandaNat yelling at each other over their last mission and reader having a ptsd episode (sudden loud noises, combat or abusive ex?)? Maybe reader goes black out for a few hours and wakes up in the forest outside the compound and WandaNat are trying to find her? Super angst to fluff? If thats okay 🤧

Notice Me

Pairing: WandaNat x Fem! Reader

Summary: When your girlfriends get into a heated argument, it triggers an episode for you, leaving the women to find you alone in the woods by the compound. 

Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of an Abusive Ex, Hints of Domestic Violence, | 1.3K

Translations: Detka (baby),

AC: Thank you for sending this, I hope I did okay! Please don’t read this if you’re uncomfortable with the mentioned topics. Enjoy! x

The back-and-forth yelling coming from the hall only seemed to get louder as your girlfriends, Wanda, and Natasha, had just returned from a mission. You were reading a book, completely relaxed, and enjoying the quietness to read when you heard the familiar voices. Wanda opened the door to the shared bedroom, Natasha following close behind her. You looked up from your book and smiled softly at the women, but they didn't seem to have even noticed you laying on the bed in one of Nat's sweaters. 

"What should I have done huh?" Wanda snapped, throwing her coat over the office chair by the desk. 

"Oh, I don't know, maybe wait for your team?!" Natasha argued, "Wands, you have powers that others don't have but that doesn't mean you get to put yourself in a life-or-death situation!" The red head added. Wanda rolled her eyes, "do you really want to talk about life-or-death situations? Because you seem to throw yourself into the line of fire at the first chance you get!" Wanda rose her voice. 

"I'm trained to do so!" Natasha argued back, tossing her bag to the floor. The loud thud of her bag hitting the floor made you jump; she didn't care for her weapons that were inside. 

"Guys" you tried to interrupt before things escalated but it was too late. Wanda's eyes flashed with red chaos before she used her magic to slam the door closed, another loud thud that only drew you closer to an episode. "Guys, please!" You begged over their yelling voices but still, it was like you weren't even there.

The arguing continued until eventually, you couldn't take it anymore. Their tones got stronger, the slamming of things down got louder until everything went black as you left the room. 

----

"Wands, have you seen Y/n?" Nat asked when Wanda came out of the bathroom in her comfortable clothing and her hair wrapped in a towel. Wanda shook her head, "I haven't seen her, not even when we got back but then again th-"

"Please don't start now" Natasha sighed, "Nobody has seen Y/n since lunch when she said she was going to come here and wait for us" she added, her tone of voice full of worry. Wanda looked to the bed and saw your opened book on the bed and your empty plate from lunch on the bedside table. She used her magic to take her back to the argument she had hours before with Natasha, "oh god" she spoke under her breath. 

"What?" Natasha asked, "what is it?" 

"We're selfish idiots, that's what! Get your coat, we have to find her" she replied.

Natasha grabbed her coat and met Wanda downstairs. Wanda could see the amount of worry and concern on Natasha's face, she took a moment to give her partner some comfort. "Nat, we'll find her and it'll be okay" she assures the widow but all this is a little too close to home for Nat. 

"I can't lose her" Natasha broke.

"I know darling, we'll find her" Wanda wiped the rolling tear that Natasha had let go.

Wanda asked some of the others to join the search to find you, you didn't take your phone and Natasha noticed you left without your shoes on. Wanda tried her best to use her magic to find you, but something was blocking your mind from allowing her to do so. 

Everybody broke up into small groups of two. Tony and Bruce started by car, driving around the surrounding neighborhood and closest stores. Steve and Thor searched the compound and surrounding areas while Natasha and Wanda searched the woods close by. It was only getting darker by the minute; the cold air began to get cold which only made every bodies worry and concern for your well-being even stronger. 

"Wands! Over here" Natasha called out when she noticed footprints in the softened dirt. Wanda rushed to Nat's side, "this way, come on" Nat added. The two called out your name over and over as they walked deeper and deeper into the darkness of the woods. 

"Nat, maybe we call Steve and get him to fly the jet over" Wanda suggested but Natasha shook her head, "the loudness will only make things worse" she reminded Wanda. 

As the two tried their best to keep track of your footprints in the dirty, they heard the loud crunches of leaves up ahead. Natasha signaled to Wanda to pause their movements in-case it was a wild animal but instead, it was you. Stumbling out of the trees only for Natasha to catch you in her arms as you fell. 

"Y/n! are you okay?" Natasha asked, brushing your hair from your face. Wanda rushed quickly to your side as Nat handed you to her before taking off her coat and instantly covering you in it to warm you up. "E-everything….it….y-ou" you stuttered, "shh, it's okay darling. You're safe now" Wanda pulled you closer to her, placing a kiss on the top of your head as your sobs became clear. 

Wanda used her powers to levitate you back to the compound, not wanting to keep you out in the cold any longer. When Natasha got to your shared room, the two of them forgot about their argument and ran you a warm bath, they bathed you and helped you into your favorite pjs because making sure you were comfortable in bed. 

"Detka, what happened?" Natasha asked in a soft tone. You looked over at her, your eyes filled with tears and mind filled with worry that you might have angered your girlfriends. "It's okay love, you talk to us" Wanda chipped in. 

You took a moment to gather your feelings before you spoke, "You guys didn't even notice I was in here, you both came in yelling and slamming doors and when I tried to get between it, you both just didn't seem to notice me. I hid under the covers to try and drown out the yelling but some of the things you both said to one another just triggered me…" you explained with a pause, "everything just went back after Wanda said 'you know better' in that tone you had" you added, looking over at Wanda. 

Natasha took you into her arms, "I'm so sorry detka, we promise never to let this happen again" she spoke, her hand rubbing up and down on your back. Wanda couldn't shake the terror in your eyes when she held you in the woods, she was quickly reminded of the fear you once had with your ex whom the women saved you from, she never, ever wanted to make you feel like that again. 

"How about I fix us some hot coco and we watch whatever movie you like?" Wanda suggested, wanting to light the mood and help you forget about this afternoon. You looked up at Wanda and nodded, "can I please have double whipped cream?" You asked. Both of your girlfriends chuckled at your request, "is that even a question?" Wanda smiled before leaning over and pecking a soft kiss on your cheek, "anything you want darling" she whispered. 

When Wanda came back with the three mugs of hot coco, the three of you curled up in bed and watched your favorite movie of all time. You were in the middle, Natasha to your left and Wanda to your right, both of them resting their heads on your shoulder. It wasn't long until you started to feel okay once again and the fear from their argument faded away as you drifted off to sleep before the end credits rolled on the screen. Wanda tucked you in and placed a kiss on your forehead before Natasha did the same. 

"Date night tomorrow? I think we could with some time away from work" Wanda whispered, "I couldn't agree more!" Natasha smiled before the two shared a kiss.

Taglist: @boredandneedfanfics | @music-4ever | @karmasgxrl | @marvelwomen-simp | @swaqcenix | @mostlymarvelsstuff | @scarlettbitchx | @mallyka-blog | @itsalwaysskorpioszn | @angel68104 | @natashamaximoff-69 | @evilcr0ne | @caporal-nino | @boredandneedfanfics | @teganmiller | @ihavezeroclue13 | @tobiaslut | 

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[potatoplace]

So Long, London

Azriel x Archeron!Reader

the 1 (part 1) | betty (part 2)| next part

the 1 masterlist (alt endings) | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: An illness spreads through Velaris, primarily impacting new mothers and their young, and you and your child are not spared. Azriel continues to make questionable choices, even as your life lays in the balance.

Warnings: suicide attempt mentions, illness leading to disability, infidelity, Azriel is as expected for this series...

Words: ~5.6k

Author's Note: So I reaaally wanted to get this out in one part, but I have cute fluffy plans for Reader's future in the Day Court. This should be the last of the full on angst in this ending of 'the 1,' after this installment it should be primarily happy times! Also... Can I just say how sorry I am to Azriel? Because in this series I cannot seem to give him one redeeming quality. He's just a total piece of shit the entire time. Aaaanways. I hope you guys enjoy this part!

18+ only pls

💙🤍💙🤍💙

It was nearly eight months since Nova’s birth when a mysterious illness ravaged Velaris, primarily effecting young children and their mothers.

And you and your precious baby girl were no exception.

Nova had stopped sleeping for longer than an hour, and refusing all solid foods. She was barely taking the milk you tried to ply her with, her tiny mouth refusing to suckle on the bottle you offered her.

You weren’t feeling much better, and by the time you managed to struggle your way to Madja’s clinic, you were on the verge of passing out.

Your mate was nowhere to be found, and no amount of you tugging on the frail bond summoned him to your side, brought him to comfort you and help care for your baby.

You just barely made it inside the door, Madja’s worried face greeting you as she took in your weakened state, the crying babe in your arms, the lack of your mate by your side. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and just before you fell to the floor Madja was able to take Nova from your arms.

When you woke later, your head felt stuffed with cotton, your lungs and throat burning in pain.

It almost felt like the bond was broken again.

“Oh, thank the mother Y/N, you’re awake,” Feyre’s worried voice said, a cool hand running across your forehead.

You cracked your eyes open, squinting at the light above you.

You were back in your room in the River House.

“Nova, is she-” you started to ask, attempting to sit up, but Feyre shushed you and gently pushed you back into the bed.

“Nova is fine, she’s recovering well so far, and she’s even taking soft foods again. You got her here in time,” Feyre said softly, and you let out a relieved breath. Nova is safe. “Madja managed to make a medicine to combat the illness, though it appears to be more effective in children. I was more worried for you, if I’m being honest…”

Feyre’s eyes were watery as she looked down at you, and the situation was so similar to after you had attempted to take your life, the only change being that your other two sisters were missing.

Not for long, though, as your sisters entered the room in the next minute, Nova in their arms.

She looked to be doing so much better than before, her cheeks their normal rosy red and her cute little lips curved up into a smile, which only widened once she saw you, her beautiful hazel eyes growing larger. Her tiny hands reached out for you, wings fluttering as she tried to leave Elain’s arms.

“Can I- is it safe for me to hold her?” You asked, hoping more than ever before that you would be able to. The last time you had held her, she had been so sick, you needed to feel her healthy in your arms again. You pushed yourself up to lay against the headboard, surprised at how tired you were from that action alone. Your lungs and throat felt like they were on fire with each breath, and Feyre quickly gave you a sip of cold water to soothe it.

“I don’t see why not, she won’t be able to get sick again with the medicine still being administered,” Madja’s strong voice said as she entered the room behind your sisters, making her way to your side. Feyre scooted back to give her space to examine you, and Elain quickly placed your precious little girl in your arms.

And everything felt right again, her adorable face staring up at you, hands grabbing at your face. Even as your arms ached from the weight of her, you welcomed it as long as you had her.

Your sweet, guiding light. Your reason for being, ever since you had fallen pregnant.

“Do you know where Azriel is?” You asked quietly as Madja waved her hands over you, examining you with her magic.

You could practically feel the anger radiating off of Nesta at the question, and she snarled, “No. In the night and day that you’ve been unconscious, the stupid bat hasn’t managed to show his face here once. You would think that his mate and child being sick would warrant an appearance from whatever bullshit he’s busy with.”

You sighed, but nodded your head. “It’s alright, I’m sure it’s something important. Nova is the most important thing to him in the world.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and scoffed, but Elain placed a gentle hand on your leg.

“I’m sure you’re right, Y/N. And I’m just so happy that you and Nova are doing better, we were so worried for you,” she said softly, tears in her eyes. “I can’t stand the idea of losing either of you.”

You smiled at Elain. The two of you had gotten nearly as close as you and Feyre in the past two years since… Everything happened, and you were delighted to be her confidant as she pursued the bond with Lucien, loving to hear about how much they actually had in common, including their love for nature.

It was so nice to hear about a happy courtship for you sister, one that you had nothing to be jealous about.

Except… Maybe the way that Lucien looked at her, like she was the sun that his world revolved around.

Azriel had never looked at you like that, not even during the mating frenzy…

You looked back at Nova, her hands now tangled in your hair and a beaming smile on her face, chubby cheeks nearly covering her eyes.

Nova was your sun, that was certain.

“Well, Y/N, I’m going to advise that you stay on bedrest for the next few weeks, I want you to fully recover from this. Your lungs have been damaged by the illness, and I want to prevent any more form happening,” Madja said sternly, leaving no room for argument.

“Damage?” Feyre asked before you could.

Madja sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid there will be long-lasting damage to your lungs, Y/N. You may no longer be able to run, or walk for long distances. You should be able to carry on with most of your everyday tasks,” she added, as if to console you.

“But… I may never be able to run after my daughter?” You pondered quietly, the thought breaking your heart as you looked at her.

“I’m afraid that might be the case. But, once you’re fully recovered from the illness itself, we can start building your stamina up again. I do hope that you’ll be able to play with Nova however you want,” Madja answered, giving a soft smile to your cooing child.

You nodded your head, attempting to process the information. “Will Nova have the same problems?”

“No, the medicine was effective enough to stop any damage from occurring, and you got her here before she was truly in trouble. You did an amazing job of taking care of her, Y/N.”

Tears pricked your eyes at her kind words.

You had kept her safe.

But as you clutched Nova to your chest, your arms started to tire, shaking slightly.

Feyre, eyes tracking your every movement, noticed. “Can I hold my sweet niece?” She asked, and you reluctantly passed her over, though you were grateful for Feyre giving you an out.

“I’ll have you take this medicine once every four hours, and Feyre can charm the clock to ring for you so you can rest as much as you need,” Madja said as she placed a bottle on your nightstand, next to your water glass.

“That won’t be necessary, at least one of us will be with her at all times,” Nesta said, a hand squeezing one of yours. You turned to look at her, and you were surprised to see a hint of a smile on her face as she looked at you.

“Thank you, Nes,” you whispered. “So I just… Lay here?”

“You’re welcome to do anything that doesn’t require you leaving the bed, so anything like reading, knitting, or sewing would be fine, I suppose. Just make sure you get plenty of sleep, alright?” You nodded your head, and Madja gave you a warm smile in return. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair for now, but I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you again."

And then you were left with your sisters and Nova, who was currently playing with Feyre’s necklace, sticking it in her mouth and sucking on the edge of the moon shaped pendant.

“Feyre, has Rhys had any luck finding Azriel?” Elain asked after a few minutes of all of you staring at Nova, each minute more adorable than the last, in your opinion.

“No, Rhys said his mental walls are still impenetrable without hurting him, but he’s doing his best to track him down,” Feyre said quietly.

You knew where he was.

Or, at least, you had a good idea.

Your mate, your husband had a… Habit… Of spending the night at other female’s homes.

Especially since Nova was born.

It had never lasted past the morning, though.

“It’s fine, he’ll show up at some point,” you said with a sad smile, locking your eyes onto Nova. “Could you get in bed with me FeyFey? That way we can cuddle Nova together.”

“Of course, sissy. Nova missed you, even just overnight. She’s such a momma’s girl,” Feyre cooed as she crawled under the covers with you, laying Nova across her chest so she was looking at you. “I hope my little one is as attached to me when they grow up.”

“Oh, you know that will happen FeyFey. There’s no way that little baby won’t absolutely adore you from birth, with how wonderful you are with Nova,” you assured her, bringing a hand up to caress Nova’s face.

“I agree with you, Y/N, you and Rhys will be such perfect parents. Just look at how the both of you are handling your pregnancy so far!” Elain said excitedly, crawling onto the foot of the bed. “And I can only hope that if Lucien and I have children, that I can be as amazing a mother as you are, Y/N. You make it look so easy, and Nova is so perfect.”

You blushed, though it was hardly noticeable with how warm your cheeks already were. “Thank you, ‘Lainey. I know you’ll be a great mother, you always seemed to have the most motherly instincts.”

Elain blushed lightly and rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, it will all start with Lucien and I agreeing to get married and mated fully. But that seems like it’s just around the corner, and I really hope it is. I just know he would be a wonderful father,” she said dreamily.

“Cassian would be good father, I think. Though I’m… Not sure that I would be a suitable mother,” Nesta admitted quietly, crawling under the covers on your other side.

“Oh, nonsense Nes. You’ll be a great mother, too. I didn’t think that I would be the best mother, either, but all it really takes is seeing their face that first time. The first little blink, seeing their eye color, getting to smell that sweet baby smell… Every little moment is so special, you never want it to end. You don’t think you’ll be good at it, Nes, but you will be wonderful. I know you will.”

Nesta leaned into you, her face against your shoulder. You could feel her smile, even as she tried to hide it. “Thank you, munchkin.”

“‘Lainey, get up here. It’s not the same without you snuggled up with us,” you demanded, patting the space next to Feyre.

“Alright, I’m coming,” she said, rolling her eyes as she got under the covers next to Feyre.

Within a few minutes, after taking your medicine and surrounded by your sisters and your sweet Nova next to you, you fell into a deep sleep.

💙🤍💙🤍💙

“Where were you?!”

“I was busy-”

“Oh? With what? What could be more important than your mate and child being sick?! What could be so important you couldn’t answer your High Lord and Lady within an hour?! Let alone twenty four?!”

“They’re sick?!”

“Yes, you fucking imbecile! Why do you think we were constantly trying to reach you?! Why your mate was unconscious?!”

“I don’t know, sometimes she shuts me out-”

“Oh, don’t try that, Azriel. We all know that Y/N is the one who actually cares about the bond, you just saunter around acting like you do while you’re in front of us.”

“Where do you get off talking to me like that?!”

“Where do YOU get off treating our sister like trash?! If you didn’t want the fucking bond, why-”

“Enough! That is enough from the both of you. Y/N can hear you,” Rhys hissed, and the yelling quieted.

“Where were you, Azriel?” Feyre’s voice.

“I got caught up with some surveillance-”

“Oh, don’t bullshit us Az. We all know that you weren’t assigned anything last night, or this morning.” Cassian.

Silence.

“You- oh Cauldron, Azriel. I cannot believe you,” Rhys said, disgust dripping from his words. “Go in there and tell her. Or I will.”

“What?” Nesta asked. You could almost picture her looking between the two of them, a thunderous expression on her face. She always did hate being left in the dark.

You, though… You were in broad daylight, already knowing what Azriel had to tell you.

This would be the first true confirmation you had of his infidelity, though.

The door opened, the soft sound of the knob turning, and the gentle way he shut it behind him.

“Y/N, I…”

“Don’t, Azriel. I know.”

Footsteps, so quiet you could barely hear it. “You… You do?”

You sighed, rubbing at your chest to alleviate the pain that came with breathing. “Of course I do. Do you really think that your subtle? That your Spymaster abilities transfer over to your personal life? Because they never have.”

“Why did you stay?”

Another painful sigh. “Nova. She deserves two parents.” And I’ve held onto the foolish hope that you would one day love me for me.

“I am so, so sorry, Y/N. Really, you have no idea how sorry I am. I have been a horrible, awful mate to you, but I will do better. I will do right by you, I swear.”

You looked away from his hazel eyes, those hazel eyes that you love so much.

Because you love him. You do.

“Okay. Go get Nova and come to bed.”

Azriel blinked at you. “Okay.”

And that was that. Azriel got Nova from Elain in the other room, who had taken her away at the first sign of arguing. He peeled off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, then came under the sheets, snuggling up next to you with Nova on his chest, already fast asleep.

💙🤍💙🤍💙

The next month was spent entirely on bed rest, and still in your room at the River House.

Madja has told you it was fine for you to go back to your and Azriel’s home, but… You felt safer, knowing that your sisters were likely to be around, Feyre especially.

Your twin sister had been… Angered, to say the least, at Azriel’s treatment of you, though you’d calmed her to the point that she was mainly only being passive aggressive to your husband.

But once you were able to walk short distances, and manage a few stairs, you felt you had overstayed your welcome at the River House long enough.

Azriel had carried you home, followed closely by Feyre, carrying Nova in a sling across her chest.

You ached to be able to do that again, to be able to confidently hold your child even while standing.

The one good thing about bedrest? It gave you plenty of time to improve your knitting, sewing, and embroidery skills. Nova now had plenty of clothes for the next three months of growth, all fitted to work around her wings while keeping her as covered as possible.

You had already started on a large chest of clothes for Feyre’s expected child, wanting somehow to repay her for all the grief you had put her through over the past two years. And, it was nice to create something and see all of the joyful possibilities that could come with it.

Not that making clothes for Nova didn’t fulfill that for you too, but… It was more the lack of future that you continued to see with Azriel.

You want Nova to have her father in her life, that was true. Azriel was a wonderful father when he wasn’t busy with work or… Other obligations.

But as a mate…? You were left wanting, and hurt.

He did help you with your recovery, making sure that you got enough movement in every day and pushed yourself just enough to keep making progress.

But three months into you being home…

Azriel didn’t make it back in time for bed.

And you knew that you needed to leave.

Elain had come over the next morning, initially to say goodbye. She and Lucien were officially moving to the Day Court that evening, more than ready to start their life together in the court that Lucien would one day rule.

And so, you came up with your plan. Elain went to fetch Feyre and Nesta quickly, knowing that they would need to be told to make the plan a success.

You were on your bed, Nova in your arms when they arrived, bursting through the door frantically.

“You’re leaving?!” Nesta asked in disbelief.

You just nodded your head, running a soothing hand over Nova’s back.

“What prompted this, sissy?” Feyre asked as she sat down next to you.

You knew that they already knew. Or at least heavily suspected.

“Azriel didn’t come home last night… And I can’t do it anymore. Elain said that Lucien already asked Helion if I could join them when they move back when I first got sick and things were… Up in the air a bit.”

Nesta’s change in demeanor was instantaneous, going from disbelieving to thunderous anger, already prepared to burn your mate alive.

Feyre hugged you tightly and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m so sorry, sissy. But if this is what you want, I’ll do anything I can to make it happen. Just promise me you’ll come visit at some point? And of course we’ll come visit you and Nova as much as we can manage.”

“Of course, FeyFey, I wouldn’t dream of staying away forever… Just, if Azriel could… Not be over while I am, that would be appreciated.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll be having a talk with Rhys about possibly banning him from Velaris for all but court duties. I cannot believe that he would do this to you again.”

“Well, we should get packing up the things Azriel won’t notice, Y/N. Just in case he does come home tonight.”

You scoffed quietly. “Unlikely…”

Your sisters helped you pack up most of your and Nova’s clothing, along with all of your crafting supplies. When it became apparent that your mate was out again, tarnishing the bond between you, the four of you quickly finished up, grabbing all of Nova’s favorite things, including the baby blanket that Azriel had painstakingly made for her while you were pregnant.

Nesta stayed behind, having agreed to wait at the town house for Azriel to return, whenever that may be. As disappointed and betrayed as you were by Azriel, you still made her promise to not physically harm him more than a punch to the jaw. Or a kick to the groin.

Feyre winnowed your things first, then Elain, and finally you and Nova, held tightly in your arms as you sped through the fabric of the world for the first time in over two years.

And hopefully the last time, as you had to quickly pass Nova off to Feyre, your lungs on fire from the pressure of winnowing, a long coughing fit overtaking you.

Once you had recovered yourself, you finally had a chance to take in your surroundings.

The hall you had landed in was grand and bright, made of shining marble that reflected the sun's rays beautifully.

In front of you was a male you didn't recognize, but the power rolling off of him in waves and the shine to his skin told you all you needed to know.

Helion, High Lord of Day.

"And you must be Y/N, Elain's sister. Welcome to the Day Court," Helion said warmly as he turned his eyes to you. "And this must be little Nova, Lucien has told me so much about this cutie!"

"Yes, it's lovely to meet you, High Lord. And thank you, truly, for what you've done for us. I... I don't know what I would have done, if not for your generosity."

"Oh, call me Helion, love. And it is no trouble at all, any family of Elain's is family of mine now. Plus... I heard some of what happened, and no person deserves to be treated as you were. I am happy to open my home to you and your little one for as long as you need."

Tears pricked at your eyes against your wishes. "Thank you, Helion."

"Yes Helion, thank you so much for helping our sister out. I am deeply saddened by the fact that I could not provide her with a home where she would be left alone by Azriel," Feyre said, clasping Helion's hands in hers. "And... I know it's a lot to ask, but would you be willing to ban Azriel from your court? I know that as soon as he knows they've left, he'll be out searching for them."

"It would be my pleasure!" Helion replied happily, a bright grin covering his face, radiating happiness like the sun. "I absolutely despise those who do not cherish their loved ones, and if I'm being honest... It would be fun to send him back to the Night Court by the scruff of his neck."

You couldn't help the quiet giggle that left your lips at the mental image you had produced. Nova looked up at you at the sound, her own lips curling up at the edges.

"Well, we should get the three of you settled into your rooms. Feyre, you're welcome to accompany us if you'd like," Helion offered.

Feyre shook her head. "I should be getting back, I still need to explain everything to Rhys. But if it's acceptable, I will visit in the morning and see how the three of you are settling in. Especially you, little Nova," she cooed at your child, who extended her hands to her aunt.

"That would be lovely, Feyre. Send a note ahead of your arrival and I'll make sure there is breakfast waiting for you, or tea if you come a bit later in the morning. Safe travels, High Lady," Helion said. "Oh, and congratulations on your pregnancy! I'll try to keep the news to myself."

Feyre narrowed her eyes playfully at him. "You'd better, High Lord." She turned her eyes to you and Elain, and gave both of you big hugs, and a soft kiss on Nova's forehead. "I'll see the three of you in the morning, alright?"

"We'll see you then, Fey. Winnow safely, okay?" Elain said.

"Oh, I will. Sleep well, and give lots of goodnight kisses to little Nova for me!"

And then she was gone, leaving you in the entrance hall with Helion and Elain.

"Lets get the three of you to your room, hmm? It's been a long night, I'm sure," Helion said softly, and began leading you to your new home for the foreseeable future.

🤍💙🤍💙🤍

Nesta was sat in the darkness of the town house, your former home, stewing in her rage.

How- how had Azriel done this to you again?!

First, you nearly died after he rejected the bond from the overwhelming pain it caused you. And yes, your choice to jump was your own.

But he had promised to you that he would be a good mate. That he would be worthy of you.

Then, you nearly died again while he was nowhere to be found, your child together also gravely ill until Madja had managed to create an effective medicine. And you were permanently harmed by it, barely able to navigate a set of stairs on your own.

And all because he had been out, fucking some other female while he left his mate and child at home during a wave of illness attacking that very population.

To think, you could have been given the help you needed hours earlier, and could possibly have avoided the disability following you now.

And after all that, you had still forgiven him.

You, her sweetest and most caring sister, the one who had never turned her back on any of you. On her.

Nesta knew that she had been an awful person to you, growing up in that rundown shack. And she had ignored you after turning fae, too concerned with her own changed body to bother to apologize to you.

In the time since your fall, Nesta had done her best to do right by you, to be the elder sister that you needed. While she wasn’t the best at comforting others, she was a good listener. She had payed careful attention to you ever since, doing her best to catch any concerning behaviors.

And when you were pregnant with Nova, Nesta had been nearly as protective of you as Azriel, taking the time to walk you to your favorite shops and make sure that you were eating properly.

That should have been her sign that something was wrong.

She should have done something, confronted your bastard of a mate. But there was no changing the past, only the future.

And Nesta would do her damned best at keeping you safe from harm, even a court’s distance away.

And that would start with ripping the Shadowsinger to shreds.

Verbally. You had made her promise to not actually hurt Azriel, beyond a punch to the jaw.

Nesta thought that a punch to the throat would be much more effective. And maybe a knee to the groin.

Just a little something to give him a taste of the pain that you existed in because of his mistakes- if you could even call them that at this point.

No, they seemed to be thought out decisions to betray your trust, to tarnish the bond that he had rejected and forced back to life.

Silver flames threatened to spill from her fingers, ready to burn the male alive, if only she would loose them on him.

Feyre had appeared in the town house about ten minutes after taking you, Elain, and Nova to the Day Court, a soft smile on her face.

“How did it go?”

“Oh, Helion already seems obsessed with Nova, and he was very welcoming to her and Y/N. I think it will be a good change for them. And he agreed to ban Azriel from his court, which solves the possible problem of him tracking them down and trying to force Y/N to come back. I know… I know that she’s serious about this, but she still loves him, even now. I was worried that she might take him back, if he begged enough.”

Nesta scoffed. “Unlikely. The fact that she left without even a note makes me think that she’s done with him, no matter what honeyed words he could try to pour in her ears. The main reasons she stayed after getting sick was to let Nova know her father.”

“I suppose that’s true…” Feyre sighed. “I need to go talk to Rhys, let him know what happened. And honestly, I want to see if he’ll allow me to ban Azriel from Velaris except for his court duties.”

Nesta shook her head, not believing that Rhys would cave to her request. “Good luck with that, Fey.”

“Thanks, Nes. Let me know when the asshole shows up, but I’ll come over as soon as I’m done talking to Rhys.”

“I will.”

Feyre left the house quietly, and Nesta was alone in the darkness once more, rage building a burning fire in her body as she contemplated just what she was going to yell at him.

Five hours later, when the sun had just began to creep over the horizon, the front door opened.

Azriel came into the sitting room, but upon seeing Nesta sitting in the darkness, he stopped in his tracks.

“What are you doing here?”

“I think the better question is where were you?” Nesta hissed, satisfied when a flash of fear crossed the Shadowsinger’s face.

Feyre, he’s here.

I’ll be over in a few minutes.

“I was out in Illyria, making sure there were no wing clippings happening.”

“Liar.”

“Oh? And how would you know, Nesta? Are you might High Lord or Lady? Do you assign me my duties?”

“No. But Feyre had already informed me that you had no work tonight, that you were supposed to spend the week leading up to Nova’s first birthday entirely at home. So. Where were you?”

Azriel’s wings twitched behind him, and he turned his attention to looking for something.

He didn’t find it.

“Where…?” He started, panic flooding his scent. “Where are my mate and child?!” He roared, stomping over to Nesta, who had stood from her place on the couch.

“Somewhere you will never see them again.”

And then Nesta struck, first a knee to his groin, followed up by a satisfying fist to his throat. She relished in the pained noises coming from him, summoning her flames once he had recovered.

“You are lucky that Y/N made me promise not to hurt you more,” Nesta seethed as she backed him into a corner. “You should be ashamed of yourself! Y/N was too kind to take you back, when all you do is hurt her! You never deserved her, you never deserved a mate at ALL! And Nova is lucky to not be raised by such a disgusting person, by someone who only lies and cheats and hurts others.”

Azriel was silent, his head hung low, even as Nesta could scent his rage.

“Azriel.” Rhys’s voice, filled with the authority of a High Lord. “You need to leave. You are no longer welcome in Velaris, except when explicitly allowed.”

Azriel’s head whipped to the front door, where Rhys and Feyre were standing, matching angered expressions on their faces.

“But I-”

“No. You have been given chance after chance to change how you act, how you treat members of this family. And I will not stand for you continuing to live here, even with Y/N and Nova gone,” Feyre snarled. “You can live in the Court of Nightmares or Illyria. But Velaris is no longer your home.”

Azriel’s eyes were wide as he looked between Feyre and Rhys, in disbelief at the situation. “Rhys, you can’t be serious-”

“Deadly. And this is an order from your High Lord and Lady: do not attempt to search for them. Y/N does not want you in her or Nova’s life, and you will respect that. Do you understand?” Rhys asked, but there was only one answer that Azriel could give.

“Yes.” His voice was angry as he gave in to his High Lord’s demand. “Will you at least tell me where they are?” He growled as he glared at the three of them.

“No. You do not get to have any information about them, unless Y/N permits it. You do not deserve to know where they are, what health they are in, anything. Azriel, you disgust me. Y/N has given you so many chances to redeem yourself, but you have disappointed her every time.” Feyre’s voice was deadly calm, but her hatred was bubbling beneath the surface. “My twin has been a saint to you, and you have done nothing but hurt her. The one good thing you have done is give her Nova. And if you ever hurt her again, I will kill you myself.”

Azriel gaped at her, and looked at Rhys.

“You should go. Pack what you want, but by the end of today, you are no longer welcome in Velaris,” Rhys said coldly.

The three of them stayed in the living room as Azriel went upstairs, their ears perking up at the gasp he let out when he saw your shared bedroom, emptied of your effects.

You were gone.

You were really gone.

All of your fabrics and threads, the thimble set that Nesta had gifted you, custom designed just for your birthday last year, the baby blanket that he had made for Nova, all of your clothes- they were all gone.

You had left him!

Surely, you weren’t serious. This was just a ploy to get his attention, to make him take the bond seriously again. His family downstairs must be in on it, just trying to go along with your wishes.

So he packed his bags, taking everything that was vital to him. He went into Nova’s room, where she rarely stayed, but her things were kept, and the pain hit him.

Seeing her room with none of her clothes or toys strewn about, none of the life in it, hurt. It hurt more than seeing that you had left.

He would find you. And he would bring you home.

You and Nova belong with him.

And he would show you that.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria

the 1 Taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @historygeekqueen @angelbunny222 @mellowmusings @romantasyreader28

[ghoulsbounty]

From a Previous Life (Pt 2)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You find comfort in your routine with the Ghoul, but an evening of bonding turns into harsh realizations.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, non-detailed talk about experimentations, angst, grief, more flirting (less squinting),

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: The second part to what was a one-shot but the responses were so overwhelmingly lovely about it that I just had to write more! I have more ideas for these two because they break my heart, so part 3 will be happening next week :) I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A routine had solidified between you both, born out of necessity in this unforgiving landscape. Each day, you travelled further through the barren wasteland, seeking refuge in abandoned structures come evening. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you gathered around the crude fire, its flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the worn walls of whatever shelter you'd found. It was a skill your companion had imparted through countless arduous nights, a beacon of warmth and security in the darkness.

With the day's journey behind you, you would compare your spoils. Tins of pork and beans, salvaged copper, and screws—valuable commodities in the market of survival. Occasionally, luck would smile upon you, offering a giant mole rat to add to the evening stew. It wasn't gourmet by any means, but a welcomed reprieve from the Ghoul's ever-present jerky stowed away in his saddlebag like a grim reminder of the world you now inhabited.

Few words had been exchanged between you. You'd come to understand that the Ghoul valued silence, speaking only when necessary, and expected the same from his companion. He had provided a brief summary of the world's changes over the past two centuries, yet remained guarded when pressed for further details about his own involvement. Despite your efforts, he remained as enigmatic as when he first found you.

Despite the grim reality surrounding you, you found comfort in the routine. Far removed from the life you once knew before the war, you still managed to extract a glimmer of joy from the simple act of preparing the evening meal. With meagre resources at your disposal—a small iron pot, a battered ladle, and two cracked but serviceable dishes—you endeavoured to create sustenance that mimicked the warmth of a homecooked meal, even in these bleak times.

The Ghoul stood as your protector, his watchful presence having undoubtedly spared you from peril on numerous occasions during your brief time together. Cooking was a way to prove your  significance in your partnership, no matter how seemingly insignificant it may appear.

The heavy thud of boots and clink of spurs against wood jolted you from your thoughts, the ladle in your hand halting its rhythmic stirring of the broth as you cast a wary glance towards the doorway. It wasn't the first time he had left you alone, deeming it safer to venture into the bustling towns without the added complication of a young woman in tow. He had armed you with a revolver and a combat knife, imparting what little training he could in their use, but you couldn't shake the feeling that his trust in your abilities extended only as far as your loyalty not to run in his absence.

"Well, that smell's delicious," drawled the Ghoul, his figure framed in the doorway, hat tipped low over his scarred features. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and you couldn't help but return it, the warmth of his presence a rare comfort after just an hour alone.

"Did you get them?"

"You doubted me?" He teased, stepping towards you and offering out a small cloth bag. You accepted it eagerly, peeking inside at the plump, juicy tomatoes nestled within.

You wasted no time in incorporating the fresh produce into your cooking, the aroma of the simmering fruit mingling with the savoury scent of the meat in the broth. Seated together by the fire, the weathered dining chairs offering a semblance of normalcy, you couldn't help but inquire about his expedition.

"Did everything go alright?" you asked, eyeing him cautiously as he slumped back in his chair, a groan escaping his cracked lips as he stretched out.

"Hunky dory," he sighed, his voice tinged with sarcasm, head back and fingers entwined over his stomach. You could tell he was lying, noticing the slight clench of his jaw and his reluctance to meet your gaze. 

It was a tell that you had picked up on in your short time together, one that betrayed his otherwise stoic resolve. For some reason, the Ghoul had taken to concealing parts of the truth from you. Maybe he thought you were too weak, too naïve, or perhaps he simply didn't want to subject himself to further questioning. Regardless, it had begun to grate on your nerves. While you appreciated his protection, you couldn't afford to remain in the dark about so much in this dangerous world.

"I'm coming with you next time," you declared, your gaze unwavering as you stirred the pot, the clinks of metal against metal punctuating your determination. "Two guns are better than one."

A playful glint danced in his eyes as he countered, "Not when you're the one holding it." Yet, the lightness in his tone ebbed away, leaving a hard undercurrent. "Already told you no."

There was a flicker of frustration that passed across your features, but you held his gaze firmly, refusing to back down. "And I've already told you not to underestimate me," you retorted, the fire of conviction burning in your words.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours. A furrow creased his brow, his gaze intense as he pointed a finger towards your growing belly.

"And you underestimate everyone else," he admonished, his voice edged with concern. "You think those vultures would take one look at you, at that cargo you're carryin', and let you walk on by? It's every man for himself out here, sweetheart, and the wasteland makes a man do terrible things. You're a commodity, and it's best you not forget it."

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of the truth settling upon you like a leaden cloak. Despite your defiance, his words struck a chord of fear within you, a reminder of the harsh realities of the world beyond the safety of the little sanctuary you have cultivated together.

The ladle slipped from your grasp, forgotten, as your trembling hands instinctively hugged your pregnant belly. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over, as the weight of his words settled heavily upon your shoulders. A commodity. That's what you and your unborn child had been reduced to in this unforgiving world, one that felt alien and hostile, yet one you were forced to confront day in and day out.

Anger simmered within you, a fierce blaze fuelled by resentment towards those who had stripped you of your former life, of the safety and belonging you had once taken for granted. And though you knew it was irrational, a pang of ungratefulness gnawed at your conscience, directed towards your reluctant protector for the loss of the freedom you so desperately yearned for.

In that moment, amidst the swirling emotions and the harsh reality of your circumstances, you felt an overwhelming sense of isolation, as if you were adrift in a sea of uncertainty with no safe harbour in sight. Perhaps even the promised haven would prove to be a deception, like the vault you had been a prisoner in for so many years. Yet, for the sake of your child, you couldn't afford to surrender to despair. Hope would become your anchor, however fragile.

With a firm resolve, you brushed away the tears before they could show your vulnerability, steeling yourself against the torrent of emotions threatening to engulf you. Turning your attention back to the bubbling broth, you scooped two large servings into the worn bowls, the aroma of simmering spices mingling with the heaviness in the air.

Handing one bowl to your companion, you found him slumped back in his chair, his weathered face illuminated by the flickering glow of the fire. His fingers traced the jagged contours of scars etched deep into his weathered face. A palpable aura of silent desperation hung around him like a shroud, casting a shadow over the dimly lit room.

Tucking into your meals in silence, the rhythmic clinking of spoons against bowls filled the room, a familiar melody that spoke volumes without the need for words. Each bite was a small reprieve from the harsh reality that surrounded you, a momentary escape from the relentless cruelty that had become all too familiar.

His voice, barely a whisper, cut through the quietude of the room, laden with a heavy weight of remorse. "I've upset you," he confessed, the words hanging in the air.

You looked up from your meal, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation. Despite the turmoil within you, there was a flicker of understanding in your eyes as you acknowledged his veiled apology. 

"It's not just you," you replied, your voice tinged with weariness. 'I just feel so useless. I can't protect myself or my baby, can't help you without being a burden. I feel like I have no control.'

He nodded, his expression grave as he processed your raw admission of vulnerability and contemplated what to do next. Setting both bowls aside, he reached into a sack he had brought back from the town, his movements deliberate and methodical. From within the depths of the bag, he withdrew a familiar metal gadget, its sleek design reminiscent of the cuffs you had seen the scientists wear during your captivity.

Your breath caught in your throat as memories of your ordeal flooded back, the sensation of cold surgical equipment against your skin sending shivers down your spine. They had treated you like nothing more than a lab rat, subjecting you to experiments and tests that had left scars, both physical and emotional, that may never fully heal.

As he held the device in his hands, his gaze softened, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and trauma you had endured. "I know what this represents," he murmured, his voice heavy with remorse and a tinge of anger. "But it can give you the control you've been denied for so long."

His words hung in the air, laden with the weight of possibility and hope. And as he extended the cuff towards you, offering you a chance to reclaim a measure of agency in a world that had sought to strip it away, you knew that this was more than just a piece of technology—it was a gift, a symbol of resilience. With trembling hands, you reached out to accept it, a silent vow echoing in the depths of your soul: never again would you allow yourself to be reduced to nothing more than a pawn in someone else's game.

As the cuff clicked shut around your wrist, its surprisingly light weight belied the bulk of its appearance. You found yourself staring down at the blank screen, uncertainty knotting your stomach as you grappled with the unfamiliarity of the device. The Ghoul, ever the steady presence beside you, reached over and deftly twisted a knob at the side of the device.

In an instant, the screen came alive with vibrant green text, welcoming you to Vault Tec. An animated image of the grinning mascot of the vaults, a sight you had come to loathe, greeted you with a cheery thumbs-up. You couldn't help but sneer at the sight, the irony not lost on you as the Ghoul swiftly navigated through the interface, replacing the obnoxious Vault Boy with a menu that offered a dizzying array of options.

"It'll take some understanding, but you'll get it in time," the Ghoul reassured you, his voice a steady anchor amidst the chaos of information overload. "The important part is the Geiger counter—it'll keep you out of trouble you didn't even know was there."

Your attention was drawn to the right of the device where a dosimeter's needle bobbed with the steady wave of radiation through the air. Another twist of the knob and on the screen appeared a walking depiction of Vault Boy, displayed percentages accompanying each limb. Below him, a nearly empty bar filled only with a small green block indicated the radiation count of the user. After weeks spent on the unforgiving surface, it came as no surprise that you had been touched by the poison that tainted it.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the hum of the device on your wrist. Looking up, you met the Ghoul's gaze, gratitude shining in your eyes.

Those words didn't do justice to the gift that he'd given you — it was a lifeline, a tool that held the power to protect not only yourself but also your unborn child. It wasn't a weapon meant for moments of attack, as the revolver he demanded you carry on your hip was, but it was equally essential in its own right. The significance of being able to monitor and mitigate the dangers that lurked in the new world was not lost on you. It wasn't just about surviving anymore; it was about thriving, about carving out a future for your child in a world that had become a battleground for survival. One day, the Ghoul would not be there to protect either of you.

"It must have cost so much," you continued, a note of wonder in your voice, and he simply shrugged in response.

"Always something to be bartered in the wasteland," he replied nonchalantly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he cleared his throat. "Don't go crying again, now. You'll give me a bad name."

You chuckled softly. Wiping at your wet eyes with the back of your hand, you couldn't help but shake your head in amusement. "It's the hormones, I swear," you joked, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

He seemed amused by your explanation, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gave you a knowing look. Instead of arguing, he simply winked at you, and you felt a flutter in your belly—you brushed it off as a small, subtle reminder of the life growing within you.

"Got any more of that stew?" he asked, his tone light and teasing as he reached for his bowl, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his blue eyes.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension of the moment dissipating like smoke in the wind. "Of course," you replied, ladling some more stew into his bowl. "I'm glad you like it."

"Oh, it's been many years since I've had a homecooked meal," he told you, his tone tinged with nostalgia as he tucked into his food with relish.

You smiled warmly at his words, a sense of pride swelling within you despite the simplicity of the meal you had managed to put together. It may not have been a lavish feast, but the fact that you could provide him with a taste of home filled you with a quiet sense of satisfaction.

"Maybe we could get some vegetables next time. Carrots maybe," you suggested, a hint of excitement in your voice.

He hummed approvingly through his mouthful, nodding in agreement. "Saw some fine-lookin' turnips on my way out of town too. Reckon you can do anything with those?"

Your eyes lit up with inspiration. "Turnip and carrot mash. We could get some milk from a Brahmin, make it nice and creamy."

He licked his lips, a spark of anticipation igniting in his eyes as he set down his empty bowl. "Well now, that's just given me something to look forward to."

The two of you talked well into the night, the crackling of the fire providing a comforting backdrop to your conversation. You noticed a shift in the Ghoul's demeanour as the topic veered towards plans for future meals and the road ahead, his tense posture easing as time went on.

Determined to keep his attention and the mood still light, you regaled him with tales of your life before, weaving together anecdotes from your childhood and high school years with a touch of self-deprecating humour. He listened with genuine interest, his deep laughter ringing out like a balm to soothe the ache of your weary soul.

You found yourself deliberately steering the conversation away from his own past, choosing to focus instead on the light hearted memories of your own. You spoke of your best friend Patti, with whom you had been inseparable, recounting the antics and adventures that had filled your days. You mentioned how close you had become, so much so that you had even moved into houses next door to each other and planned out each meticulous part of your lives..

However, you made a conscious decision not to mention your husband, feeling a pang of uncertainty as to why. Perhaps it was a desire to keep Glenn and your companion separate in your mind, two distinct chapters of your life that you were reluctant to intertwine for some unbeknownst reason. Or maybe it was a subconscious attempt to shield yourself from the painful memories that lingered just beneath the surface. 

Regardless of the reason, you found solace in the simplicity of the moment, in the shared laughter and camaraderie that felt like a bond forging between you both. This was the most that the Ghoul had spoken to you in the weeks since you'd started traveling with him, and you relished the comfort that it brought you. Despite the superficial nature of the conversation, there was a sense of intimacy in the shared laughter and you felt giddy at the prospect of you both becoming more than strangers to each other.

When a yawn escaped you, the Ghoul smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nodded towards the makeshift beds you had prepared earlier that afternoon. Two tattered twin mattresses salvaged from the wreckage of a long-forgotten room, a decent width apart and covered with old, vermin-chewed sheets. It wasn't glamorous by any means, but it was a far cry better than some of the makeshift sleeping arrangements you had been resigned to during your journey through the wasteland.

"Go get. That's enough jaw flappin' for one night," he teased, a playful glint in his eye. Despite his jest, there was affection in his smile, a silent reassurance that you were safe and perhaps even cared for in his company.

With a chuckle, you nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over you like a heavy blanket. Rising from your seat by the fire, you made your way towards the makeshift beds, the promise of a few hours of rest beckoning you like a siren's call.

The unwelcome pest of a thought nagged at you, persistent until you found yourself unable to ignore it any longer. With a determined resolve, you moved back towards the Ghoul, your steps fuelled by a sense of urgency you couldn't quite explain. Ignoring the look of alarm that flickered across his face, you leaned over awkwardly as he sat in his chair, and wrapped your arms around him in a brief but heartfelt embrace.

For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to stand still as you felt the surprising warmth of his strong arms around you, the comforting weight of your pregnant belly nestled between you serving as a tangible reminder of the life growing within you. You wanted to thank him, to tell him that this simple gesture meant more to you than words could express—that it was the most human you had felt since thawing from that cryo-chamber all those weeks ago.

But before you could find the words, your thoughts were shattered by the rapid clicking of the dosimeter. Startled, you pulled back, confusion clouding your features as you looked down at the device on your wrist, its needle flitting erratically with each click.

As you glanced between the dosimeter and the Ghoul, a sense of realization began to dawn on you. His eyes remained downcast, his expression unreadable, but the sudden silence of the dosimeter spoke volumes.

In that moment, the pieces began to click into place, like a puzzle slowly revealing its hidden picture. You knew that everything on the surface was a danger, that radiation flooded every inch of land and contaminated everything it touched. Every mouthful of food you took, every swig of water, every wash of your body—each was a necessary risk in the struggle for survival.

But naively, you hadn't stopped to consider the threat that the Ghoul posed—not beyond the immediate danger of him putting a gun to your head or the possibility of him selling you to the highest bidder.

As the suffocating realization settled over you, you felt the overwhelming sense of isolation creep back in, wrapping around you like a vice. Your protector was also your potential killer, and he had wanted to ensure you had a Pip-Boy—to keep you out of trouble you didn't even know existed.

He had given you the knowledge, the control, to make your own findings and decisions, all for the sake of your unborn child. And yet, despite his intentions, you couldn't help but feel a hint of betrayal. You almost wished you could have remained blissfully ignorant about this particular aspect of life on the surface. It was as if you had lost a friend you hadn't really ever had.

"You keep that thing on," he said with a hint of sadness, pointing to your wrist. The only acknowledgement of what just happened. You nodded silently, your hand instinctively running over the cool metal of the Pip-Boy before you turned away.

"Goodnight," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you retreated to your bed. With each step, the weight of the truth bore down on you, a heavy burden you would carry with you as you drifted into a troubled sleep, haunted by the knowledge that even in this new world, friendship was a luxury you could ill afford.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484

[simping-overload]

Hello! I was just wondering if you could write some angst!!

I was wondering if you could write a ghost x male reader where reader gets seriously injured to the point where it scares the shit out of ghost and ghost lectures him but ends up crying as he's lecturing the reader? 👀

a/n: hurt/comfort my love tags: canon typical violence, gore(??ppl get stabbed and someone gets their throat sliced open) no use of y/n, male reader, injured reader, prob occ ghost??? ghost cries, everyone cries. angst, hurt/comfort

ヾthis is a multi-fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem please do not follow or interact with my mlm/nbmlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛

You were a sniper. You weren’t supposed to get too close to the fight. All you had to do was hang back and try to offer support, but by the gods do you never listen.

The situation got tight, Gaz and Soap trapped in a room by enemy fire. Captain Price and Ghost were clearing out another building.

You being the oh so self-sacrificing bastard you are ran to help. You went the back way, so the enemies’ backs would face you, unaware of your approach.

You quickly and efficiently took them out, just as you were trained, but—you missed one. A heavy hitter, a fucking Juggernaut.

He didn’t bother reloading his gun, throwing it to the side before he started swinging. The first few swings caught you off guard, and he got you right in the nose, breaking it. This throws you off balance, which gives him the opportunity to throw you against the concrete wall.

You rolled to the side before he could kick your ribs in, quickly standing up on your feet, slightly dazed. You pull out your knife, the one you were gifted to Simon, as using a gun in close combat would be useless.

You circled each other, waiting for the other to strike first. Vaguely out of the corner of your eye, you can see Soap carry Gaz out of the building. You feel a slight relief that now they’re safe.

Your way of winning this fight was to take it nice and slow, bait him into moving so he wears out easier due to all that heavy gear.

You move forward like you’re going to swing, which causes him to charge forward. You sidestep. His armor barley grazes yours.

“Oh? Is That all you got?” You mock, tapping your foot like an impatient child. You’ve played this game before.

He huffed like a big bad wolf, “I’ll fucking kill you,” He growls out.

Charing at you again, he actually gets you. He grabs onto the side of your armor and pulls you on him, securing his arms around your body before throwing you onto the ground with him.

You can feel something crack as your head fits the floor, that doesn’t stop you from squirming and wriggling in his grasp. You use your knife, plunging it into the nearest flesh you can find.

It didn’t go far, but it did make him shout in pain. For just a moment, his grip loosens, you throw yourself out of his hold, trying to dash away to create distance.

He recovered quickly, grabbing onto your ankle. He forced you to trip. Landing face first, you couldn’t stop him from dragging you back to him. He gets on top of you, pinning your arms down with his knees as he starts punching you again.

You black out, head and mouth bleeding. The man cackles, throwing you up against the wall with a cackle. He holds you up, forearm pressed against your through as your feet dangle helplessly in the air.

Your eyes shoot open at your sudden lack of air, you kick at him weakly. Shaking hands, reach for your knife, ripping it out of his thigh. You can’t use it before he rips the blade out of your head and stabs your stomach multiple times.

High off of adrenaline, you grab a smaller knife from your shoulder strap, one that was covered in a fast acting poison to render your opponents immobile. You did the knife under his helmet; the knife meeting his now exposed throat and you slice.

The man immediately drops you, leaving the knife in your stomach as he stumbles back, holding his neck. He slides down against the wall as his body gives up on him.

You raise a shaky hand to your walkie, “Captain-L.T. I need a medic asap. I can’t stay awake for much longer.” You can feel your eyelids get heavy.

“Stay awake, soldier. I’m on my way.” Simon’s gruff voice was the last thing you heard before your eyes seemed to shut for what may be the last time.

You float in and out of consciousness, eyes cracking over just barley as you feel familiar arms pick you up and run to the evac. On the helicopter, his gloved hands holding your face with such gentleness.

The last thing you remembered was being jabbed with one too many needles before passing out completely.

You felt like shit. Your head was pounding, and the rest of your body felt like it was on fire. You crack your eyes open, wincing at the blinding lights of the medical ward.

Your eyes scan the room. There isn’t anyone here. Aside from whoever is sleeping next to you. You turn your head slightly, recognizing the familiar build of the love of your life, Simon.

“Simon.” You try, voice dry and horse.

His head automatically shoots up at the call of his name. His eyes lock with yours. You can see the internal strife within them debating over what he wants to say.

“You’re an idiot.” The insult doesn’t make you wince, as it’s true.

“I know—.”

“No, I don’t think you do. You rush in blind, without a care in the world. You could’ve been killed, and you nearly were.” Simon takes your hand in his.

“I was only trying to help Si... I couldn’t do shit from the bird’s nest.” You interlock your fingers and squeeze his hand.

“What help are you if you ended up dead?” His shoulders drop. “I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if you did.”

You can feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes, “Simon... let me see you.” You nudged the edge of the mask with your free hand.

Simon slips off the mask, his eyes are bloodshot-a result of hours of crying. You cup his face with a shaky hand. “But I am here now, that is what matters, yeah?”

He leans into your palm, tears streaming down his cheeks. You sigh, pulling him towards you. Pressing your forehead against yours, he sighs against you.

“I’ll make sure to be safer next time, okay?”

“Okay.”

[mysterycitrus]

Mayhaps you've already taken a shot at answering this. Why do you think people in fandom get Dick Grayson so wrong?

to be totally honest i don’t know? like, i’d say a significant part of it is because the two icebreaker comics people seem to read when they’re getting into dc are red robin and under the red hood.

rr2009 is about a complex grief spiral that challenges dick and tims relationship before they ultimately reconcile, but if ur not interested w engaging w the story it’s very easy to villianise dick (and damian) for tim whump.

utrh also relies on a lot of context from other comics at the time, and i think a lot of people conflate bruce’s actions to dick, particularly with the movie, to make jason the victim rather than actually considering the actions he takes. idk. we fear complexity, ig

it’s weird because many of dicks most important and foundational traits — community, his relationships with his neighbours, his status as a big brother and mentor to young heroes, his kindness, his abrasive but ultimately loving relationship w bruce, his propensity to pick arguments, and his role as a beacon of light in gotham — evidently are popular because they’re consistently lifted to give to other characters. in return, dick is flattened to either an absolute enabling asshole or a total idiot with no friends who can’t even defend himself. it sucks

even in regards to angst…. a lot of what people write fic about has happened to dick rather than other characters. in modern canon he was fired during an argument with bruce. he was homeless and isolated during the latter half of grayson’s 96 run. he’s consistently hurt by bruce and his other family members when they throw hands at him outside of combat. like…… *smacks him* this bad boy can fit every fanon trope in him np

itd be nice for people to engage more with his character, but same with damian or cass it would require that other characters not be trapped in permanent victimhood or actually meet dick on his level. dick is the most emotionally intelligent person in that family and uses his powers to say the most heinous things imaginable. he’s the second best detective. after cass he’s probably the most dangerous physical combatant. he doesn’t need tim drake to show him how to reset his wifi password